Thanks to an interesting package warning of vidicon's [don't think the post is locked, but if it is, my bad, but it shouldn't be, I don't think], I recall the Academic Decathlon State competition.

Ahhh, those good old days.

There were several of us, the best and brightest from our school. We were staying at a large hotel in Anchorage, and somehow, no one had put "Thou Shalt Not Play With Fire" in our rules. (Thou Shalt Not Throw Things Out Windows, yes... not fire.)

But, anyway.

Nine to twelve of the brightest and best of West Valley High School's brightest and best, left pretty much to their own devices. Someone, I think Ruby, got incense. So, we-the-girls were playing with the incense, trailing the smoke through the air, idly singeing the edges of papers.

We had already discovered the individual, one-serving coffee makers, and were in raptures over them. "Awww, how cute! MY COFFEE! GIVE ME MY COFFEE!!"

No one had much use for the powdered non-dairy creamer... no one, that is, until someone must have remembered their early training in the fine art of fuel-air bombs, and got a Brilliant Idea. To the bathroom we repaired, with two rooms' worth of finely-powdered non-dairy creamer and a lighter.

Open packet. Pour finely-divided powdered non-dairy creamer into the air of the bathtub. Light. WHUMP. Ooooh, shiny flames-in-the-air! Let's try another!

We had to call room service for more coffee kits.

There was debate about whether or not to throw fireballs out the windows, as that would not be having anything go down to ground-level (the toothpaste incident was fresh in our minds as a cautionary tale), but wiser minds prevailed. We did have fun in the bathtub, though.

The Awards Banquet rolled around, and we were, not surprisingly, among the schools who were mopping up. It was really down to two schools, in the end -- the ones who had a dedicated class to AcaDeca, and us, who did it after school in our free time. They won, but we made a good showing.

There were candles in the table centrepieces, and I eyed them. My teammates looked at me with that combination of understanding/interest/horror/anticipation that so many people learn to get around my father. The "She's not really going to do that, is she?" look. The "Should I run screaming now, or wait to see what happens?" look. I looked at the middle of the table, and saw that the creamer was the nice kind, the liquid kind in little plastic cups with the sealed foil lid.

I asked a passing waiter if they possibly had any powdered non-dairy creamer. I got The Looks from my teammates. The adult chaparones were oblivious, as no one had clued them in on what we'd been doing with the small explosions in the bathtub. We quietly agreed that we would use the fireballs to add into our applause, which had been limited to some tame beanie-spinning, with the usual clapping, hooting, and hollering.

Sadly, when I sprinkled the creamer, it was not fine enough, and sat there in the candle. Ms. McKinny noticed this, and was confused. No one enlightened her.

I don't know how this tradition came to be, but the thing for the West Valley High School of Fairbanks Alaska Academic Decathlon team was gummy bears. Gummy bears and beanie hats.

Gummy bears were eaten throughout the stuff, as encouragement to the team. We would spin the propellers on the hats, to set our minds in motion.

Occasionally, people would throw gummy bears. This was frowned upon.


For the State competition, I was the happy recipient of a five-pound bag of gummy bears from Sam's, because my parents figured it would be OK to get me some, and that the team would need many.


I think that was the only year we had too many.

When I was in high school, a senior, I finally had time in my busy schedule for the Academic Decathlon, ten brain-busting-for-fun events including things like math, music, art, literature, and (the year I was in it) the Global Economy.

We won at the local level, and got to go to State.

Well.

Before we went, we got lectured by Ms. McKinney, the supervisor of the club (and the Gifted & Talented teacher) on the Rules, and that it was important to adhere to them lest we hurt someone or ourselves, and especially lest we become disqualified through breakage of the rules. To reinforce this, she brought up some of the exploits of past students.


One of the Rules was, Don't throw anything out the windows of the hotel. That was there as a safety rule, of course. An object falling accelerates at a speed, blah blah blah, and of course dropping something hard from up high could hurt or seriously kill people.

Normal students would of course have accepted this for safety reasons and gone on without breaking the rule, or would have disregarded it and the safety of anyone below.

Not so with the Acadeca crowd. Recall that this is a crowd of ... nine? Ten? Twelve? of the brightest students in the high school. One of the guys thought about this long and hard, and reasoned that, well, birds fly higher than this building, right? And no one's ever been killed by falling guano, right?

So, he opens up the window, and squeezes out some toothpaste.


All would have been good, except for the intersection of the toothpaste with the lady with the fur coat walking below...


His parents paid the cleaning bill. The team was disqualified.