The Stupid Pill

Children are merciless. They are cruel little mosnters with no sympathy for anything and anyone else. Narcopaths, sociopaths, psycopaths, all the "paths" if indeed they are to be even considered human. One incident comes to mind late at night when I can't sleep. Perhaps my first memory of my own manifestation of social anxiety. Or perhaps the very seed it sprouted from.

I was in kindergarden, perhaps 5 or 6 years old. Maybe younger. In fact, I was one year younger than everyone else in my class. A tiny girl, shorter than average, with questionable fashion choices and bowl cut that would make The Beatles cringe. Although very early for such social habits to occur, groups - and labelled groups to be precise - had emerged within our little classroom. One in particular was "the cool girls" which I was not part of but aspired to at least be tolerated by.

One of the girls, or dare I say the possible leader at that time came to the kindergarden one day with yet another plan to evoke curiosity and plant herself in the middle of everyone's attention. She opened her little backpack that was probably one of those Bratz Girls or whatever the height of the fashion was at that moment and swiftly pulled a tiny shiny pill out of her pocket. The entire herd flocked around her as if she was holding the Sorcerer's Stone itself in her hand.

"This is my new treatment", she said, allowing everyone to admire the little pill in her hand. As you know, there is no treatment for being aan evil little turd, so it was most likely fish oil in one of those soft transparent shells. The ones you can actually squeeze to the breaking point and spend the next few days rubing detergent and lemon juice onto your hands so you don't smell like the fishmarket itself.

But the general level of medical knowledge of the group was allowing us to imagine that she was holding in her hand the very secret to eternal life. But even that thought didn't make it very far into time, for she had some clarifications to give.

"I must take one everyday or else I get very sick", she added looking down into the floor as if she was some exhausted soul tormented for many years by unimaginable pain and suffering and only wished to return to health and normality, and live like the rest of us. What a terrible life to wish upon a child that she requires this little pill every single day or otherwise she will dissolve into the thin air.

But like I said, children have no sympathy or compassion. For us, it was as if her need for the pill was a super power. Like she was an X-Men and her super power was to need daily dose of Omega 6's and 9's. Wow. Sign me an autograph right now, Bridget. I do apologise for the name Bridget, it just came to me on the spot. I am sure there are some good Bridgets out there. Big fan of Bridget Jones' Diary by the way.

Coming back to our little moment of historial importance, the discovery of the pill. She had us trapped. Entirely. So what next? Oh, do you want to hold it? Do I want to ho-. Hold my beer, Bridget, yes I want to hold it.

Needless to say that passing around pill through the hands of children is the worst thing you can do. We were not yet at the age of reason necessary to know how many squares of toilet paper would be enough so as to not end up making finger to bum contact. We didn't have enough RAM to always remember to wash our hands. You might as well drop the pill into a public toilet, let it swim around for a few days and pick it back up. I remember one boy taking his hand out of his pants right before touching the pill. I mean, really Tommy? Again, Tommy is the first name that came up, no intention whatsoever.

And then suddenly my turn came to have a look at this bacteria-covered pill, and by God I was fascinated by it. Now you might be acquainted with that little voice in your head that seems to always come up with the most terrible ideas. Like when someone is really annoying and you wonder which one of your arms is the dominant one when it comes to punching.

As a very curious child, I found myself in that moment wondering what was inside of the pill, and whether I could break it. And as the voice in my head said "pop it", so I did. Disappointing I have to say, it offered barely any resistace, the little thing. Popped easier than the wrapping sheets bubbles. And the oil inside flowed over my fingers, which I don't recall enjoying very much.

But I didn't have time to reflect on my feelings about it as I froze with fear. Bridget however, had a brief moment of silence like the rest of the children and although I didn't have the courage to look up, I imagine she was discreetly smirking when she said, "Now I am going to be very sick because of you."

I must've blocked and movement or sound coming from around me, as I don't recall any of it and surely such a herd of monsters couldn't have been silent for too long. Some of them retreated to their previous interests, not intrigued by the fresh drama to be created, some still listened from far away to see what would happen and the "cool girls" were surrounding Bridget as if to protect her from radiation now that her super powers were gone.

Much after the incident I don't recall other than my apology and pleading with her not to tell the teachers or her parents, or perhaps, in my head, the police. And in return, for a few days if not weeks I was Bridget's very own assistant.

Yes, this 5-year old evil turd of a girl blackmailed me into carying her bag, bringing her water and tending to all her other requests, when really she should've thanked me for destroying the single most disgusting and bacteria-filled pill that ever had its time on Earth. You're welcome, Bridget.

As for my social anxiety, this might just be one of the earlies recalls I have of it. Although I do seem to remember watching one of my fellow nursery inhabitants getting his medicine administered by suppository, the experience of which he really didn't seem to appreciate. I said I watched him but I much rather remember hearing the poor thing unsuccessfully objecting the treatment.

But I find some consolation thinking that it was Bridget herself being administered her stupid fish oil one way or another. It makes it easier to fall back asleep.