As a growing teenager, bragging rights were a crucial bargaining chip in the social interplay between peers. That and cigarettes.
One day, way way way back, I recieved a letter declaring that I had one a competion. It had something to do with Special Criminal Investigation, and I had won the grand prize the remote control car.
A Remote Controlled Car, oh soooooo sweeeeeet, letter clutched in hand chest puffed out, I waved that damn piece of paper under all and sundry(Even the conductor on the train to school). I was immediatly placed at the top of the piile, cigs were coming my way, people wanted to be me, have my life.
The car never came...A letter came instead, this one declaring that they had made a grevious error and infact I had only won a cartridge of SCI. Needless to say that this letter was not displayed so promiently. I didn't cry, but the hopes of tall awkward squeaky voiced teen (With terrible terrible hair I must add) were cruelly dashed, cynacism, mistrust were my new weapons in my hormonally charged arsenal.
My new found free cig ration abruptly dried up, my place in the pecking order was recinded. It was a dark day.
To remedy the situation I beat the living snot out of anybody who dared mention it for about three months and discovered a neat talent for being viscous, arrogant hardnosed and good with a pair of fists. I ruled those pigs, and there was nothing they could do to stop me.
Which was nice.
Still wish i won the bloody car though it looked so cool, and I continued to get my mother to buy me ZZAP till the end. ahh the memories...
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