I was a strange lad. Always depressed and crying and whatnot. It was fifth grade and I was the new kid again. I guess the teachers wanted me to feel special so they asked if I would serve my fellow fifth graders by writing them tickets for running in the hallways. I got to wear a bright orange, um sash? It had a badge on it. I was a badass.

Mostly, the only punks that would give me any guff were the fasties, as I called them. Kids that ran everywhere. There was a war on fasties and we were steadfast in our commitment to protect all fifth graders.

Then one day it happened. I was at my post, scanning my line. Searching for fifth graders who had lost their way. Maybe they were just experimenting with running, maybe they were long-time runners. I didn't care. If you were in my hall, you did not run.

ACTION! A runner - and a fast one! Wait, that's not - no. It can't be. It was the CAPTAIN of the Safety Patrol. RUNNING! I did what any good cop would do. I gave him a ticket. Later that day the teacher asked me if I had given the captain a ticket. I told her the story. I figured I was getting a ribbon or something. Maybe I was up for promotion because of my unrelenting single-mindedness? No. I was reprimanded and taught a hard lesson.