I have no idea why, but today I was randomly reminded of an incident that happened when I was a child. Although mildly embarassing, it’s comforting to know that ignorance (in the true sense of the word) can really be a powerful learning tool. Or at least a humiliating teacher.

So I think that it was February, and I think that I was nine years old. What I definitely remember, though, was that I had just been to the mall with my mother (though not mortified in any preteen way) and had snagged a shiney new copy of Ninja Gaiden for the PC. I was giddy. I couldn’t wait to get home, rip out the 5.25” floppies (no joke) and install this whip-ass game on our 286 (really, not joking). Oh what a dork I was in hindsight.

Unfortunately, mother had a different plan. Why she didn’t speed home with the skill and intensity of a racecar driver, just so her youngest son could put his hard-earned chore money to work, it’s beyond me. For some reason, ravioli and deli meat was higher on her agenda. So we went to Sofo’s. This guy was not amused. In fact, I decided that I would rather sit in the front seat of the ‘85 Cougar and read the box over and over again whilst she shopped. Besides, one can’t be seen in public too much with their mother.

So after about the fortieth time of reading the box (seriously, was she flying to Italy for this stuff?), and mother not seeming to be anywhere in sight, I got bored. And what happens when Brian gets bored? He looks around for something to play with, which almost always ends in disaster. This time was no exception.

A quick glance around the car proved rewarding, in the discovery of a shiney new object of my boredom: a black plug thingy. Now what the hell is this? The little graphic on the front looked like a victrola record player. What’s sad is that I knew what a victrola was, but not this foreign object that was standard (unbeknownst to me) in EVERY AUTOMOBILE IN THE US.

So what is one to do when curiosity gets the best of them? Well, for me, I decided to experiment. I couldn’t pull the thing out on first try, to further inspect it. So I did the converse, and pushed it in. It stayed in for a few seconds, then popped out. “Hmm. That was curious. Why did it do that?” I thought. Next logical step: repeat. So, I pushed it in again. Same response. This time, I knew something was up. So I decided that it had to come out. I was a scientist, and explorer on a mission. I was a tactile being that had to understand the inner workings of everything, and nothing was about to stand in my way. Sure enough, a big yank and out of the dashboard it came.

Now, what happened next is the real stroke the genius. The little braniac in the passenger seat, upon pulling it out and seeing that it was glowing red, decided to TOUCH the foreign object. That’s right. And it was at that exact second, as my skin made contact with the heated coil, that it all made sense, that everything clicked and I knew what this thing was.

I had successfully touched a twice-heated cigarette lighter. Genius.

Upon returning to the car, my mother found me passively sitting in the front seat, clutching my finger and looking puzzled (I’ve always, rather peculiarly, been remarkably calm in dire situations). Her inspection yielded one very burnt finger with perfectly-shaped concentric rings radiating outwards on my skin. Her nine year old son had successfully branded himself.

I learned my lesson, sure. But not because it hurt like hell or anything normal. No, I learned my lesson about what a car lighter did and how it worked because it severly impeded my Ninja Gaiden playing for a week or two.

It’s ok. The game sucked anyway.