Philetons: The True Stories

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    12-Mar-2016
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An experiment I did in writing, designing and putting together an Ebook. This one contains six stories that happened to me as a kid in Bulgaria.

Transcript of Philetons: The True Stories

  • Knee Cream

    During one very unfortunate span of 8 hours, I had the disfortune of getting stuck on an up ramp at Loon Mountain parking lot, colliding with another vehicle as I slid down and flipping my car over 180 degrees, but above all, hurting my knees by falling continuously on ice; carefully disguised and camouflaged under one centimeter of snow on the trails. Once home, my knees turned from white to purple in a matter of an hour and I spent that time desperately seeking some sort of remedy. Little did I know that the thought of my knees in their current state would be my remedy later on.

    Searching frantically in my medicine cabinet, I found a little tube that said Pain Relief. Blinded by the stinging in my soft-ball sized knees I grabbed it, undid the cap and squeezed it with an umbrella-hold onto my bruised joints. Rubbing it in softly, the placebo effect took hold and I belied I was feeling better already. I left a thick coat of pain relief gel on my knees. I closed the bottle and imagined the bliss ahead.

    I was surfing Facebook for the following minutes when I felt a tingling sensation in my knees. I figured it was only the gel, fighting off the pain like a knight in white armor battling the forces of evil that kept me from walking. I dismissed it...but the feeling came back.

    I realized soon enough the feeling coming from my knees was pain, hot pain! More pain than before. It got hotter and hotter until, over the course of a five minutes, I felt like there was open candle flames dancing on my knee-caps. I panicked, tried blowing on my knees, but even that offered me no relief from the inferno. I ran to my bathroom, opened the cabinet and removed the gel tube; angrily staring at it. In small print below the very attractive words of Pain Relief was a smaller phrase which I had overlooked.

    Capsaisin Cream. No shit my knees were burning! I had just put the equivalent of six of the world's hottest

    peppers on my black and blue. In a spit second decision, made in between internal screams of terror, I took off my Nike sweat-shorts and grabbed a towel nearby. I began vigorously rubbing the excess cream off my knees in a side to side and back to front motions. The realization of what I had done came too late, in the form of a whole new level of pain surging though my legs.

    I had achieved my goal of removing the excess goo off my knees, but I had rubbed most of it into my skin and irritated it even more!

    Now in complete freakage, I decided to take out the heavy artillery against this devil's cream. I took off all my clothes and sprinted to the bathroom across the hall. It was 2 am. I turned on the shower to super cold, and jumped inside with the least graceful motions you can imagine. Shivering, I took the shower head and lowered it to my knees.

    To my surprise, the area that the water coming out of the shower covered was not big enough for both my knees to comfortably receive the wet relief. I spent my next fifteen minutes holding the shower head over one knee until the pain in the other was close to knocking me unconscious. Then I moved the water over to the other bruised knee.

    Feeling too ridiculous and somewhat better, I shut off the shower, put on my robe and shamefully walked out of the bathroom. The pain in my knees was coming back quick (the shower was only a temporary relief) and I had to find another way to keep cool.

    As I walked into my room I caught a glimpse of my green desk fan. I grabbed it off the floor, clipped it onto the side of the desk and angled it towards my knees. I touched my knees together ( a process quite uncomfortable for a guy) and sat parallel to my desk, letting the cold air blow on the bruises. Due to the small nature of the fan, my knees had to be adjacent for the air to hit both of them. Unfortunately, the weak power of a simple desk fan was not enough to cool off the conflagration. That's when I saw the final ingredient which would put an end to my suffering.

  • Like a godsend, the bottle of Purell sat on my desk staring me in the face like a raging bull. I uncapped it, poured some of the slimy liquid on my hands and gently slid them over my black knees. Immediately, as the cold fan air contacted the alcohol in the gel, an icy sensation filled my body and the burning was immediately gone. I had found it! But there was one final piece of the puzzle.

    My legs were not meant to stay together for that long. I was tired and my muscles simply couldnt keep my legs together for an extended period of time without them drifting apart unconsciously. This problem was solved by my red flannel shirt; whose sleeves I tied in a double knot around my thighs to keep my knees and legs together under the fan.

    For the hour following, I kept the same position, tied, glazing the affected knee areas with Purell once it evaporated. I had never before felt such relief from such a horrible pain.

    I went to bed pain free and with a pair of the cleanest and most bacteria free knees in the state.

  • Jesse Zhang and The Ski Lift of Death Based On Completely and Entirely Factual Events

    It was a sunny weekend when my friend Jesse Zhang asked me to grab my board and go to the mountain with him, his brother and his dad. I was definitely up for a day of snowboarding and going with Jesse, perhaps one of the funniest and awesome people to hang out with, was definitely an opportunity I did not want to miss.

    We got in the car and an hour and forty five minutes later, we were there. The mountain was called Pat's Peak; the hotspot for Asian skiing for the surrounding area. Just as in their downtown district, the merchandise at Pat's Peak (lift tickets in this case) were discounted. $35 for an entire afternoon and night of riding! I half expected to see a badly copied Wactchyouset logo and a Made In China stamp on the back when I bought my night pass but it seemed legitimate enough. We suited up and hit the trails.

    Not an experienced snowboarder myself, I went down the slopes slowly, sticking my ass out as if I was about to sit on a high placed toilet seat. Whenever the speed got too fast for me, around 20 mph (the speed limit on streets with deaf and mentally ill children) I turned perpendicular to the trail and came to a full stop. Starting out is always the hardest part, physically and emotionally. In the earlier days, not only did I have to deal with hitting the ground but with people around me making noises that were a cross between an A and an E, which I took as an insult. Perhaps that's all they could formulate before the 6'5'' guy in front of them stopped suddenly causing them to swerve violently into whatever was to the side at the time.

    Jesse was even worse than I was, though I pretty much had the hang of staying on the board and riding down without stopping by this trip. The following chain of affairs happened at least six times in succession. I would ride down carefully, looking at the trail in front of me when I'd notice Jesse Zhang's form come into view from my right in the periphery. He would utter a statement like Hey look I'm almost catching up to you! after which he would catch an edge or a bump which would send him to the ground and out of my view. I kept seeing him come next to me and in the next second he was rolling behind me.

    This sequence of events would later be repeated one more time, but with a bigger audience. We were in line for the ski-lift, talking about the regular old things until it was our turn to board the lift. We slid slowly into position as the chair came behind us and we sat down; Me on the left, Jesse on my right. Before the safety bar had a chance to lower, Jesse said I think I can clip in my other binding!

    As Jesse leaned forward to strap his other foot onto the snowboard, I turned to my left to watch a snowball fight amongst a few children. I had not even finished turning my head fully to where I wanted it to be before I heard a soft Oh Shit!

    I turned back around to find Jesse Zhang gone and an empty seat beside me. I looked from side to side but couldn't find him. The lift came to a stop and I gazed between my legs to find where Jesse had ended up. He was face first in the snow below the lift, his body position reminiscent of Frogger...once you lose.

    The lift attendants kindly helped him up and sat him down on a chair behind me. We rendezvoused at the top of the mountain where I made more fun of him for a bit before we took a run down.

    To this day, Jesse's story is that I sat in the middle of the chairlift, I gave him no room (he never wanted to clip his other binding in) and because of this lack of space due to my big ass, he tumbled out of his seat into the snow below.

    I, of course, will forever refute that claim. :)

  • The Museum of Contemporary Arts

    On my recent trip to Canada to party and drink till the wee hours of the morning, I decided to enrich myself culturally during the day by going to the Museum of Contemporary Arts in downtown Montreal. I picked up my 20 Canadian dollars and walked down the street for twenty minutes, during which I was solicited by old men asking for change on my right, and old men beckoning me to enter their strip clubs on my left.

    Upon approaching the Museum, I was greeted by a set of giant blue balls scattered around the front and side of the museum. They stood about 7 feet in diameter and emitted random sounds which I could not quite place; metal colliding together, dubious moans, groans and other ambient sounds. Little did I know that was the least weird exhibit I was going to witness.

    Inside of the museum, a blonde woman at the counter told me that it was going to be only 5 dollars because they were between exhibits; however, the permanent collect