The Shin-Kicker

I suppose everyone has them. Those random people who walk into your life, kick you in the shins and calmly walk out again. My problem was that my shin-kickers didn’t always walk back out

I was in my Gonga suit during finals week of last semester, standing on Lowry Mall just opposite Memorial Union on the MU campus. It was cold, so for once I wasn’t sweating that much, which was nice. It was ten minutes before the hour, which meant that exams were just letting out and crowds of students were streaming past.

I passed out flyers as fast as my numb hands would allow, muttering something like, “Sell your books back to The Textbook Game.” It was a half mumble, half gorilla howl which I had been perfecting over the last weeks as I developed Gonga’s character.

A college kid with dark curly hair and glasses paused in front of me as I fumbled to pull the next flyer off the stack. His white teeth flashed as he suddenly swung his foot back and aimed a kick straight at my shins. I jumped backward, but not soon enough. His white and black track shoes connected sharply with my shins.

“Hey!” I shouted, forgetting about the gorilla voice.

The boy had already turned and plunged back into the crowd, laughing hysterically.
I teetered on the edge of charging after him, grabbing him by the back of the neck and putting him into a full nelson until he explained why in the world he decided to kick me. That’s when self control snapped in.

“He’s not the enemy,” a little voice soothed me. “He probably thought your gorilla suit would pad your shins more than that.”

“Hold it right there!” the voice in my head shouted. I had taken a running step after the kid. “Cut it out and simmer down!”

I listened now, fists clenched at my sides, the flyers forgotten. “Remember the mission.” I told myself. “Remember the mission.”