When I was young, so much younger than today...... I was 5.
Salt and vinegar savoury snacks were all the rage back then, and the cream of the crop was: Sky Divers. They were shaped like tiny little men, and were packaged in a light blue bag, in an effort to imbue them with some vague link to the sky, and diving from it (I was 5 and it worked on me).
Now I think of it, Sky Divers was still a stupid name, because they bore no relation to actual Sky Divers, other than their crispy humanoid form.
I had the raging food horn for Sky Divers, at the time, because they combined the 2 things I loved most in the world:
1.) Poor, but tasty, dietary choices
2.) Novelty shapes.
The Beard Mother, never bought Sky Divers separately. She only ever bought them in a multi / variety pack of 6. Therefore, there were 4 other shit packets of crisps that no self respecting 5 year old would be caught dead with. Not whilst Sky Divers were available. Other 5 year olds, that did not eat Sky Divers, were as bad as Hitler in my infant eyes. And I would make sure I let them know it. So you can see it was important for young boys, in my demographic, to possess them and feel that they were a part of their everyday life.
One morning my childhood nemesis, and part time best friend, was at my house. We were just about to go out and play, when I spied The Beard Mother preparing to give us both a packet of crisps. Deep joy. But, to my horror, I could see that she only had only one packet of Sky Divers. The other hand, the hand suspiciously close to my body, was holding........ Chip Stix. Ready fucking salted....... Chip Stix. The savoury snack equivalent of a bowl of wank.
I knew there were no other Sky Divers, as I had happily knocked the shit out of the only other packet, that very same morning.
Eventually the inevitable happened, and my nemesis was given The Sky Divers.
I know many of you may think that this doesn’t sound that bad, maybe not.....but when Sky Divers were available????? it’s like being handed Pamela Anderson’s breast, only to have it snatched away and replaced with Simon Cowell’s saggy, hairy, man tit.
As far as I was concerned I had been betrayed by my own mother. At the age of 5, I had never suffered such feelings of rejection, and hatred. As we walked out through my garage, and into the front yard, I clutched my Battle Damage He-Man, so tightly, my knuckles lost all feeling in them for a week. My mind was swimming in bitterness. The desire for retribution had consumed my tiny soul, leaving me an empty, bitter, husk of a rug rat.
At this point, I noticed that my nemesis and I were alone. My newly twisted evil mind quickly realised it’s good fortune. My nemesis and I had tested each other in physical combat many times, and I had been victorious on each, and every, occasion.
I took the opportunity to apply some game theory to the circumstances. I could simply take the Sky Divers from him, and he could do nothing to prevent it. I might have incurred some minor injury, but this would soon be forgotten, as I consumed the sweet, delicious, Sky Divers - ambrosia of the gods. And, as a last resort, the pointy arms of Battle Damage He-Man, would make and excellent weapon.
Or, I could simply accept my fate and munch the shit, but equally nutritious, Chip Stix.
Clearly the criminal idea was the one choice that was immediately beneficial, and if there is one thing a 5 year old suffers it’s Instant Gratification Syndrome. I decided to go for it.
With one deft movement, I snatched the Sky Divers from his grasp and took them into my own possession. As I had recently started Ju - Jitsu lessons, I summoned all of my two Wednesday nights worth of knowledge, and braced my self for his attack. I knew I was going to get some lumps. He was somewhat smaller than me, but had the advantage of being bat-shit crazy when he wanted to be. Except, nothing happened. He simply looked down at his lonely, empty, hand, burst into tears, then ran away home.
I was quite surprised. At first I couldn’t believe my luck. I now had 2 packets of novelty, savoury treats, and no injuries. The Beard Mother would not find out, because my nemesis had left, and I had all day to consume the evidence. All in all, a cheeky little result.
Soon the drunken thrill of victory wore off, I came to realise that I now had noone to play with, and would be unlikely to do so for quite some time (possibly a whole day).
I began to think about The Beard Mother, and the amount of work she had to do, to earn the money to buy the Sky Divers in the first place (quite early for a five year old, I know, but she never shut the fuck up about it).
I realised that she owned the Sky divers, not me, and should have been able to give them to anyone she liked. It’s not like I didn’t get anything, it just wasn’t exactly what I wanted to have.
When it all dawned on me, I couldn’t eat the crisps, I just threw the Sky Divers on the floor and cried. I walked off to The Beard Den, and cried even more. I cried so much I forgot to take the Sky Divers, and so they were lost. To the sands of time.
You see my friends, eventually the Sky Divers would be gone. Sure, some of their masticated remnants would get jammed into the gaps in my teeth, but eventually even that would be gone too. My shame would last forever. Even now, I feel embarassed that it happened at all. My nemesis would probably forget the actual memory, but his mind would retain some element of mistrust for me, and he probably always kept a tighter grip on his stuff when I was around.
So, essentially, the moral of the story is, not getting what you want, does not entitle you to act like a little cunt. If you think that it does, then you simply are a cunt, and don’t be surprised if you start to sprout, short, thick, unsighlty black hairs and smell of fish.
P.s. I really want the moral to fit into a contemporary incident. But I can’t really think of one. I was going to go with the recent riots, but that’s got something to do with lack of opportunities or something, so it can’t be that.
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