The Kids Of America (Whoa)

I am English. I was sixteen years old when my family decided to go for a vacation to Florida to visit the theme parks.

Everything was normal. It was a good holiday and the people were friendly and lovely.

One day, we were at one of the famous theme parks, waiting for a water ride. I was wearing large sunglasses and waiting with my mother and my younger brother.

People started to disembark the ride and a girl, around my age, stopped and started to stare at me. My mum made a joke that she fancied me, I ignored it, and we all forgot about it until later.

My family and I were eating lunch at one of the restaurants when a group of 16-year-old girls marched over to my table. They started to berate me for “lying to them about being sick” and saying things like, “If you didn’t want to come out for my birthday surprise, you could have just said!”

The main girl — who stared at me earlier — began to cry quite loudly and my family and I were thoroughly confused.

After one of the girls dumped a drink on my head — this confrontation went from 0 to 60 very fast with little opportunity to speak — I finally removed my sunglasses.

Suddenly, everything stopped. The girls went bright red and rushed away without so much of an apology.

I guess it was a case of mistaken identity.

Don’t worry, America; I don’t hold it against you. I fully admit that teenagers can be crazy regardless of their country of origin.