When I was a child, we had Hot Dog Day at school. I believe it was a Tuesday (probably one of the reasons I like Tuesdays so much as an adult). Hot dog day was fantastic. You could get hot dogs (duh), chips, chili, and probably some other stuff that didn't matter like drinks and fruit and stuff. But, obviously, the hot dogs and chili were the best. Some bold (read: awesome) kids even got a chili dog, which was like 25 cents extra. I preferred my chili separate.
I would get one hot dog with ketchup and mayo (because I'm a mayonnaise-loving fatty), and a small cup of chili with a dollop of sour cream, chopped onions, and shredded cheddar cheese on top. Oh yeah, those were the days.
But hot dog day wasn't always a good day, my friends. No. It came with it's price.
The first hot dog day incident happened when I was in kindergarten. Since I love food so much, and obviously cannot contain myself to wait in any sort of "line", I ran to the glorious hot dogs as fast as my little legs could go. This resulted in my falling down an entire flight of stairs within the school building. Nobody was around, and surprisingly, I didn't feel that hurt. I got up, dusted off my ugly-ass Catholic school jumper, and ran to the Hot Dog Room (also known as the gym to big kids).
I got in line, my eyes wide at the sight of the delicious hot dogs, only to be startled by the screaming that ensued all around me. Apparently, the fall that I had sustained had been worse than I thought, and not only was I bleeding profusely from both knees, but I tracked puddles of blood into the immaculate Hot Dog Room. The other kindergartners were making a huge fuss so the teacher came over. She took one look at me, blood all over my white button up shirt, jumper, white knee socks, and Keds, took my hand and dragged me straight to the office, where I was promptly cleaned and bandaged up. By the time it was all over, I missed out on hot dog day all together, and had to eat some crappy peanut butter sandwich that one of the hot dog ladies made for me.
I went back to the Hot Dog Room afterward to see if there was possibly one stale or mushy hot dog that didn't get eaten that I could have. No such luck. They were, however, impressed at the amount of blood that they had to clean off of the floor. I was denied any hot dogs until the following Tuesday, and had to stave off my cravings all week. This was my first hot dog day injury, but it certainly wouldn't be my last, oh no sir. The next one would find me in the emergency room. I bet you can't wait to find out why.