With great anticipation and lots of nerves, students from a few grade schools combined to see the layout of new stomping grounds: the much larger Metcalf Junior High in Burnsville, Minnesota. But the talk of the day centered on learning how to use combination lockers.
Naturally, not-so-mature middle schoolers were testing if they could fit inside; smartly they would puff up like a blowfish and act like there was no way possible: the biggest fear of the skinny “diary of a wimpy kid” type being that a bully might stuff you in a locker at some point in the year. I should have used that tactic. Always being the smallest person in every grade level, it was not long before my friends came looking. I already knew how to use a locker and locking myself in was not it, nor was that on my bucket list, so I had stayed clear. But with my friends all gathered around, promising not to shut me in, I relented. Still I hung one arm out. “Yup, this locker is big enough for any of us to fit,” I said. Then a fat kid budged past my best friend slamming against the door. I pulled my arm in, wincing in pain, and he slammed again. There I was stuck in the locker.
To make it worse, my friends were in such a frantic panic that it took many tries to get me out. Questioning my acceptance my claustrophobia began, worrying that this might have been the plan all along. A few minutes felt like forever. I am still embarrassed to admit, but I was in tears, my greatest fears being realized, and all the incoming students looking on at the boy to be known for this locker incident the rest of the year.