Storytime #4 - Martial Fartist

So here's a story about one of Magi's low points. I don't have many, and they don't matter much because I'm perfect. You guys have heard some awesome moments of mine, so I think it's only fair I share an embarrassing one, and this comes to mind pretty clear.

In my younger years my brother and I were aspiring martial artists. For some reason, we decided that American Kempo was the way to go. We went from studio to studio, because membership fees and such be expensive yo... Aaaaand at one of the places the 'master' may have stolen a bunch of money and said "deuces" but that's another story for someone else to tell. I don't know the nitty gritty of that.

Anyway

We were pretty ameteur. Or my brother was. I was the best. At the last dojo we went to, I held the record for number of side blade kicks to a punching bag without my foot touching the floor. About 100-something. But that's also another story.

During one period of instruction, we were sitting around in our gis on the mats and listening to the instructor. We were learning... I don't know I can't remember. But it was Kempo stuff. All was going well, when suddenly, I felt a disturbance in the force. I froze, everything slowed down. Decisions, 007, decisions. My options:

1. Excuse yourself and go to the restroom, just in case

2. Put all remaining focus and life energy into holding that bugger back

3. Gamble

I was sitting the the middle of a crowd of a couple dozen kids, and was too awkward to just get up and shimmy through the class. So option one was out. Option two, heck no. It was coming. It was too late to restrain it. Only one option remained, and I tried to rationalize that it was the best one.

Perhaps it would be silent. Then people would just point fingers at each other and I could just play tragic bystander. It didn't feel that powerful. Surely it would pan out that way.

But when it arrived...

It was not silent, Canterlot.

There was no whisper about this.

As it reached the end of its journey, it turned the speakers up to 11. It caught me and likely several others in the parking lot by surprise. There was absolutely NO denying this one. All eyes were on me, including the bewildered instructor who looked like I had just mastered the five star palm of death. Unwanted attention, for an unwanted reason. I just sat where I was and waited for my brain to shut itself down so I could die. But I didn't die, and class continued as if nothing had happened shortly afterwards. I writhed in self-pity for another half hour before my mother finally arrived to pick us up at the end.

My brother relayed every horrific detail.

I'm sorry Canterlot.

I'm so sorry.