A Little Locker Legend

I remember the scream.  Danny's shrill ear-splitting scream that cut night apart like a surgeons scalpel.  It echoed off the dark trees with a sort of vigor that can make even the bravest of men quiver with fear and self-doubt.  One of our female companions stood frozen in horror unable to fully comprehend what her eyes were telling her brain. 

“PUT IT DOWN!” I shouted, feeling the blood race through my body at an uncontrollable rate, “PUT THE DEMON DOWN DANNY!!” 

“I CAN’T!” Danny half cried, half pleaded, “HE’S BITING ME!”

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When I was in high school there was a locker competition among a group of us that shared a common locker area dubbed “The Pit”.  The winners of this contest would receive free lunch for a week at the expense of the losers and the distinguishment of being christened a “locker legend” – something that for me carried far more personal glory and gain than a week of free mashed potatoes and mystery meat.   I wanted to be a legend. I needed to be a legend and immediately knew all conventional laws that govern our society and keep mankind from tearing itself to shreds would have to be taken off the table and kindly discarded.   I had win and I would make sure of it.   

The rules were crude and vaguely stated but to the power-thirsty and moronic minds of high school seniors it was as though Martin Luther himself had scratched out the parameters and nailed them upon the walls of The Pit. The winner, the rules elegantly stated, would be the team receiving the most number of votes by 23 randomly selected underclassmen judging only on “actionable locker décor”.  Let the games begin.

As the contest proceeded the stakes were continually raised by my fellow comrade’s engineering feats all deliriously obsessed with outdoing the other.  Lockers fitted with fish tanks and multi-colored Christmas lights powered by car batteries became regular sightings.  Fold out locker kitchens complete with homemade mini-mini-mini fridges started to appear – one rigged with a working toaster.  There were Radios and CD players along side disco balls, strobe lights and subwoofers. One team was even building an in locker Tesla Coil.  Yes, the competition was ratcheting up but to be a legend one must rise above such childish and conventional exploits and think how a true locker legend, nah – locker god - would think.  My partner, Danny, began to get worried as the contest end date drew closer and closer and we had yet to even design anything.  I kept assuring him I had a plan but was waiting on a single piece of information destined to assure us victory.  My idea was simple.   Brilliant really.  Every competing idea to that point had been electrically or mechanically powered.  In order to win we had to go bigger, better.  We would have to do something that no one else would even imagine or have the balls to pull off. We needed to go human.

A midget can very loosely be defined as: very small or of a class below usual size.  The key words in that are: “class”, “small” and “below usual size”.  Considering the key words, one can take it a step further and argue a rough translation to mean a midget has no inalienable rights or civil liberties.  Therefore a midget is an entity or “class” of organism below human specifications and thus can be treated as such – especially if that meant being immortalized as a locker legend.  At least the 17-year-old version of myself was able to make that connection and misguided rationalization.   My idea hinged on the concepts of portability and interaction – a midget possessed both - so when the judging occurred our locker would slowly and dramatically open, out strolling the “Locker Jester” juggling and singing the praises of the underclassmen judges that stood before him. 

“A fish tank and mini-mini-mini fridge doesn’t have shit on a walking, talking, fucking juggling locker midget outfitted in a jester costume and top hat!” I remember excitedly assuring Danny when first telling him of my plan. 

Danny was a big guy, standing about 6’4’’ and 190 lbs.   His laugh was machine gun fast and sounded like a stuttering tire being driven across highway rumble strips.  He had brown curly hair, a large nose and huge hands that would swallow up anyone else’s during a handshake.  He also had an unusual and unhealthy obsession with the band U2 and had seen them something like 24 times all over the world.  His face would go red if anyone ever badmouthed the band and once he even hit a kid for calling Bono an “overhyped, talentless Mick”.   The only thing Danny loved more than U2 was guns, knives, and danger.  His family, fully taking advantage of (and in my opinion the exploitation of) the second amendment, had over the years purchased dozens and dozens of firearms.  Handguns, rifles, semi-automatics and fully automatic weapons were just the beginning.  I was pretty convinced that his family owned a tank or at least a large supply of powerful explosives – something Danny would never confirm nor deny. They were radicals.  But it’s what made Danny - Danny.  I was lucky to have such a quirky and unpredictable individual for my partner.  He was the only person I knew, other than myelf, crazy enough to commit first degree felony kidnapping for 10 dollars of high school cafeteria food and a made-up honorary title of no actual significance outside the four brick walls of our high school.  Ah, misspent youth.

Weeks earlier I had hatched my dubious plan by soliciting several classmates on the whereabouts of any mini munchkins working the seasonal haunted house circuit.  I nonchalantly explained I had an unexplainable and irrational fear of little people and wanted to avoid them at all costs should I fancy a stroll through one of the area freight fest factories.   Weeks past and there was no news of any lurking little people until a confirmed report came back to me identifying one such place.  Allegedly at the end of a locally operated haunted woods site there was indeed a midget working.  His shtick, albeit simple and old fashioned, was to sneak up on any thrill seeker brave enough to venture through the woods and scare the bejesus out of them at the end of a very long and narrow path.   It was discussed and agreed that Danny and I would act that weekend.  So as to not look out of place we asked a couple of female classmates to accompany us as our dates and with their unknowing help we would walk the woods where the little hunter was about to become the hunted. 

Saturday finally rolled around and everything was in place.  Danny had secured a thick black fabric bag and a large tub of animal crackers and gummy bear candies.  

When I asked Danny what the crackers and candies were for he matter-of-factly responded, “Midgets love sweets. Everyone knows that.” 

“Were not searching for a god damn elf Danny, leave the candy here!” I exclaimed.

The black bag was where we would hide our locker winning midget until we could get away from the other patrons and employees of the haunted woods and get to the safety of our vehicle.  Once there we would ask the midget for his cooperation in assisting us with our locker contest.  If he refused we would put him back in the bag and drive him to obscure mountain cabin where we would use the threat of besetting an illegally obtained vicious spider monkey on him in a fight-to-the-death-gladiator-style-brawl (Danny’s idea).  In reality there was no mountain cabin, just Danny’s parents tool shed and there was certainly no illegally obtained spider monkey; but Danny did have a pretty big cat.  We talked the operation over one last time and didn’t anticipate any problems with our shock and awe midget removal plan so we jumped in Danny’s car, picked up our dates and drove to the haunted woods.  What could go wrong?

We arrived at the haunted woods just before dark and to our disappointment there was a long line of fellow thrill seekers snaked around a poorly constructed waiting area.  As we stood in line Danny entertained our dates with stories of U2 shows and how he and brothers would light old wrecked cars on fire in the west desert of Utah.  My mind raced and I reviewed the details of our plan over and over in my mind.  When the midget approached us on the long path Danny would pretend to trip and fall to the ground and, in a hurried attempt to stand up, would quickly reach out and pick the midget up.  I would then rush over with the bag and together we would stuff the little munchkin into the black fabric void, effectively securing our legacy within the members of The Pit for decades if not lifetimes to come.   It would work.  It had to work.

Finally it was our turn to pay the admission fee and enter the haunted woods.  Our dates hung on our arms, screeching at every turn, as we slowly and methodically tottered our way through the dark and spook filled forest.  There were hidden ghosts and chainsaw wielding maniacs coming at us from every direction.  Swamp monsters and crazed clowns danced along the route tempting us to make eye contact so as to provoke and justify further harassment.  Hidden speakers hung from the towering tree branches repeating recorded screams and evil laughter.  None of this mattered of course.  I was on a mission and all the poorly costumed ghouls in the world would not keep me from obtaining it. 

Suddenly the trees tightened in around us and we found ourselves on a long and narrow path.  All the haunted woods actors had seemingly disappeared and we could hear the yelps and shouts of the patrons behind us being menaced by their efforts.  The midget was here, somewhere, watching us.  Waiting for us to pass so he could creep along and at the right moment expose his presence for that last and final scare of the haunted woods.  I couldn’t help but smile a large and menacing grin.  The sense of victory washed over me like a warm blanket.  He was close – I could smell him.  We inched along the path slowly scanning the surrounding scenery looking for any indication of our lurking little person but found none.  I glanced up and painfully noticed we were nearly to the exit point.  My scan of the forest quickened and my heart raced.  Where was he?

Without warning Danny fell to the ground and let out a heavy sigh.  The signal!  I spun around and there, charging full bore at us, was the midget.  Standing maybe 3 and half feet short he was dressed in an old 1900’s prison jail costume.  His eyes were wild like fire and his hands were contorted into some ghastly hook formation.  His legs fiercely pattered along the path as he ran toward us, screaming his awful and awkward little person war cry.  Our female companions screamed at the sight of such a small yet terrifying image.  Danny rolled to his side then without hesitating lurched forward; hands out stretched and caught the tiny little belt wrapped around the waist of our tiny little man.  The midget, obviously confused, tried to turn around but Danny was all ready standing up in the process lifting him high above the ground. 

“BAG HIM!” Danny screamed, unable to bottle his excitement.  “BAG HIM NOW!”

Without saying a word I removed the black fabric bag from underneath my jacket and shook it open as I leaped toward Danny.

The midget, now perhaps fully realizing what was occurring, did something neither of us ever expected.  The midget began to fight.

His short arms and small fists swung wildly like wind blown pinwheels and his feet began to kick. Profanity laced sentences danced from his mouth ordering us to let him go or else.  The situation was horrifically spiraling out of control when the unthinkable happened: the midget sunk his teeth into Danny’s arm. 

I remember the scream.  Danny's shrill ear-splitting scream that cut night apart like a sharp surgeons scalpel.  It echoed off the dark trees with a sort of vigor that can make even the bravest of men quiver with fear and self-doubt.  One of our female companions stood frozen in horror not able to fully comprehend what her eyes were telling her brain. 

“PUT IT DOWN!” I shouted, feeling the blood race through my body at an uncontrollable rate, “PUT THE DEMON DOWN DANNY!!” 

“I CAN’T!” Danny half-cried half-pleaded, “HE’S BITING ME!” 

He began to shake his arm violently trying to free himself from the midget’s murderous mouth grip.   Then as quickly as it had all occurred it was all over.  The munchkin released his bite, falling to the ground and scampering away into the darkness of the forest.  Our female companions were nowhere to be found or heard from again and poor Danny had teeth marks covering his forearm.  My mouth hung open and eyes blinked rapidly struggling to make sense of the fleeting moment.  I heard footsteps, lots of footsteps followed by the voices of large men wearing uniforms with badges ordering us to the ground.  I felt helpless and scared.  I was now the one being hunted by larger men. I was now the midget.

After what seemed like hours Danny and I were able to talk our way out of the whole situation through a series of poorly constructed lies and half-truths.  We fumbled our way through a hazy reenactment of the preceding events that included lies like mistaken identities and amnesia.   In hindsight I think the arresting officer just didn’t want to deal with the whole bewildering situation anymore so after a strict lecture and lifetime ban from the haunted woods we were on our way.

As we drove home, beaten and defeated, the reality of the night hit me like a ton of bricks: what the hell had I just done?  I had just tried to kidnap someone for the self-satisfying title and nearly inedible food prize of a high school locker competition.  If I had just spent the time designing something legal we probably would have won!  What kind of a monster had I become in the face of competition?  Jesus, what was wrong with me?!  I looked at Danny to share my eye opening epiphany but before I could get a word out Danny looked at me and disgustedly sneered, “I told you Aiden! I told you I should have brought the gummy bears!”