So there I was on that hot summer day, my head inside a mailbox.

My were feet skittering around as if I was standing on ice, and my hands grasping the outsides of my tiny cell as I screamed incoherently from fear and frustration regarding my predicament.

Then, as easily as I had inserted my head, it popped back out. I mean, it's only logical that if I could stick my head entirely inside the mailbox so easily, I should be able to pull it back out the same way. But, going back to that stupid-kid theory, I had decided that freaking out was the better way to go.

Then, as I stood there, breathing hard, sweat-soaked, shaking, red-faced and probably bleeding from the neck, I heard laughter from behind me. Turning, I saw two teenage girls standing across the foot-blistering street, looking at me and laughing. I imagine they'd been standing there for some time, watching the stupid kid with his head in the mailbox trying to keep his roller-skated feet from scrambling around at all angles while screaming gibberish that erupted from out of the mailbox like Grand Canyon echoes.

Gathering what was left of my dignity – which pretty much amounted to me pretending it had never actually happened – I pivoted on my skates, climbed up the driveway, entered the garage and stayed there for ten years.