When you're significantly younger than the majority of your friends, you'd think that the residual effects of riding to Cold Stone in the bed of a pick up truck isn't really something you need to worry about.
And that's where you'd be wrong.
And that's where you'd be wrong.
I'm 19, and I'm the second youngest person involved in the Refuge City Church plan in Dayton Ohio (The youngest of which being like a month younger than me), everyone else is in their mid to late 20's or 30's. This, however, does not necessarily constitute habitual maturity. So last week, after an introductory discussion on the ecclesiology of Refuge City, a number of us piled into the back of a pick up truck and drove through Dayton to get ice cream. Apparently that's legal now.
It was all good fun.
Until we wen't over a bump.
Then it was super-mega-awesome fun.
I was sitting in the rear most section of the bed, directly above the back tires, so when we went over the bump I caught mad air. Like five feet. I saw my whole life flash before my eyes. I had excruciatingly vivid visions of my body being thrown onto the blacktop into something that would inevitably end up in an exhibition of modern art. There were still things I had to say. Things I had to do. Things to watch on Netfix. It couldn't end like this.
It was also the most fun I'd had in a long time. I feel as if near death experiences and exuberant giddy are supposed to go together. I should probably see someone about that.
Ok, fine, in reality it was probably only like a foot of air. And the more I recount this story, the more I feel like Ross in that episode of FRIENDS where the car backfires. It wasn't really near death, but that doesn't mean that it didn't change my life.
And it wasn't in some deep, profound way.
It was changed when, an hour later,I checked my phone only to find a giant crack across the screen. My android looks like Charlotte was trying to tell me something but then was struck with acute and debilitating epilepsy.
Hey there E.B. White reference. Probably won't see you ever again.
Now, when I first decided to write this post, it was the day after the actual incident. It has now been six days, and I've yet to do anything about the giant crack across my screen. At first it was just because I was lazy, but now I think it looks kind of cool. Like maybe I was attacked by Russian mobsters and had to defend myself using my phone. Or maybe I jumped in front of a bullet to save a baby, and the phone saved my life. Or maybe I'm just super hipster and uncracked cell phones are so mainstream. You probably wouldn't understand.
Yeah. I think I'll go with that last one.
