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If I said I was out skateboarding with friends last night, how many of you would get together a betting pool to see how long I could last before I fell off and hurt myself? Whoever had “17 minutes” is the jackpot winner.

Mr. Capp picked me up (not literally) from the parking lot where the incident occurred and took me out to eat at The Trough. On the way, he told me how his father had decided to get on a skateboard when he was “around my age”, fell off and broke his arm. I told him how my father had decided to get on a skateboard when he was “around Mr. Capp’s age”, fell off and broke his wrist. Now I’ve ensured the tradition lives on, only minus the bone breakage.

At the buffet restaurant, I was reminded as to why Mr. Capp isn’t supposed to be eating there. Salmonella on the unwashed salad vegetables aside, the patrons alone could kill a person. I waited my turn for the sour cream behind two women at the baked potato topping area. The first woman looked at the sour cream and turned to the second woman to ask what it was. The second woman shrugged, so the first woman *dipped her finger* into the sour cream and then put her finger in her mouth to taste it. A moment later, she announced, “That’s Cool Whip!”

The second woman pointed at the sign above the container and said, “But it says it’s sour cream.” The first woman stood her ground about the Cool Whip, even though it was surrounded by chopped onions, bacon bits, salsa and other items people put on top of their baked potatoes. Not to be outdone, the second woman *dipped her finger* into the sour cream so SHE could taste it. Her verdict? Cream cheese!

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