I feel as though the majority of inanimate objects I come across in my life are harboring a personal vendetta against me. From shampoo bottles to crates to my own car door, I can never seem to escape the evil clutches of my nonliving nemeses.

On a daily basis, I find myself on the battlefield, dodging swinging cabinet doors, and strategically-placed end tables who are under the command of their fearless leader, the pointed edge. With no injuries in the past few weeks, I had assumed that the dust had settled for the time being. Little did I know that they were busy coming up with another plan of attack.

It was simply another day in class. Swiveling in Mrs. Sprague’s chair at the front of the room, waiting for the projector to turn on, I soon realized that the projector had been turned off. I jumped down and took my first step, looking down to see the lime green crate sitting innocently on the floor. It was a harmless crate right? I was about to learn just how wrong that statement was.

Taking another step, I moved to the side, intending to side step the crate. But I was too slow.

Anticipating my moves, the crate reached out and grabbed my right leg, sinking its lime green claws into the skin and pulling me down. Before I could attempt to defend myself, I was lying on top of the crate, disoriented and embarrassed beyond belief. Taking a second to gather my wits, I slowly rose and examined the damage my enemy had inflicted on me.

A long scrape was running across my leg, and the beginning of a rather large and hideously purple bruise was forming in the background. Brushing off the invisible dust and remnants of defeat, I stood up and held my head high (in case another enemy crossed my path).

And it was in that moment that I came to the embarrassing and unfortunately true conclusion.

My name is Riegen, and I am uncoordinated.