Another average day. A teacher approaches me.
"Hey," he says.
"I've got a red car," he randomly states.
"Yes," I say, confused, nodding and smiling.
"My car's parked in the front row," he continues.
"Okay..." I say, my smile become wider and more artificial.
He pulls keys out of his pocket.
"These are my car keys," he says. He pulls something else from his pocket.
"This is my new cell phone," he continues as if the two objects go together like peanut butter and jelly.
"I have no idea how to use it."
"Ah," I say, in an understanding voice.
"Now, what I want you to do, is go out to my red car, parked in the front row, and in the front seat is a white little manual. I want you to take that manual, lock the doors, and come back."
This statement on it's own is a bit confusing. Most students my age don't often walk out of the school randomly, with keys in hand and open a car door.
"Sure," I say. "Do I need a pass?"
He puts the keys in my hand. "I think this'll do."
So, quite simply, I go outside (this got a funny look from the assistant principal), go to the red car in the parking lot, open the door, and take the manual. Of course, I lock the doors when I'm done.
Now that I think about it, this story is a bit boring. It seemed exciting at the time.