Growing up, I endured perpetual teasing for being a stickler for the rules. In high school, you would have never found me in a teacher’s classroom pleading for a confiscated phone or in the principal’s office profusely apologizing for cheating. Hell, I was the only student in my fifth grade classroom to have never received detention. So if you had told me I’d be sitting in the back of a paddy wagon with my hands cuffed behind my back, I would have either laughed or cried miserably.
But after an exhausting first semester of college, I was thrilled to begin my winter break by embarking on a journey with my best friend, Kesha. We had booked a bus ticket to Washington, D.C. to attend a Fire Drill Fridays demonstration on the Southeast Lawn of the United States Capitol.