I gazed at his balding head; the stubbly dark hairs stood sparsely on his scalp as iron filings attracted to a magnet. They were thinly spread revealing a near perfectly smooth scalp of a highly reflective nature. It gave the illusion of translucence betraying the eye by preventing it from determining the exact nature of the surface – perhaps a kind of human event horizon. Indeed it was an invitation to many to rub that stupid balding head, just to see what those little hairs felt like. It was in fact an interesting sensation and similar to rubbing your palm against the soft bristles of a fingernail brush. Most who knew Scoof however also knew not to rub his head as it would generally invoke a vulgar response; such as for a male, grabbing of the crotch or for a female, a grope of the breasts. In his judgement an uninvited rub of his head was a personal assault on his privacy and justified such a response.

Today it seemed Scoof’s aim was to derive joy by convincing me to drink depraved and filthy concoctions. This was a game we used to play as young boys, and it always ended in one of us vomiting. Somehow beyond my conscious will I had been coerced into this idiotic game again and I now sat looking at the next dare placed in front of me.

This particular item was of surprising simplicity – a small glass of pure white vinegar. I picked up the glass and slowly rotated it back and forth with my fingers inspecting the contents with cynical scrutiny. This was too simple for Scoof, and I suspected that he had placed something else in it. He invited me to dip my finger in the liquid and taste it to make sure he told the truth – this I did and subsequently felt somewhat reassured. The challenge of course was to scull the whole glass in one go which is not as easy as it would seem, for anyone who has eaten a packet of salt and vinegar chips quickly knows that vinegar has the potential to make your mouth collapse in on itself and make you lust for water as if it were more precious than life itself.

The round balding head was chanting at me “do it do it do it” in an effort to motivate me – all it did in reality was annoy me. Those beady little eyes and small undersized mouth made Scoof’s head look like a bowling ball. I fantasised about ripping his head off and sending it rumbling down a bowling lane smashing into the pins. He was a little too eager for me to complete this task assigned to me, however if I refused now I knew that the irritating bowling ball would be forever placing doubt on my masculinity.

I took the glass and threw the contents down my throat. Within half a second I knew why Scoof was so eager for me to do this. Vinegar, as high school chemistry told us, is an acid. Acid burns! My throat was an intense mass of pain; however I was unable to yell or scream or make a substantial noise of any sort. The vinegar had reacted with the moisture of my throat and rapidly vaporised, filling my airways with an acidic cloud of poison. I could not breathe and I began to panic. I jumped up and began running around the room in the futile hope of easing my distress. Scoof was doubled over laughing like the rabid hyena that he was, but I couldn’t even summon enough emotion to hate him at that moment. As my senses became overwhelmed by the odour and taste of vinegar, the world began to go dark and I passed out crashing to the floor.

I woke up in a hospital bed. When I collapsed I had apparently knocked my head on the table, and I was unconscious for several hours. I had a mild case of concussion and a very sore throat. The fiendish bowling ball was there, and without a single ounce of remorse proceeded to tell me that my misfortune was the funniest thing he had ever seen. Now I had the energy to hate him!

My loathing for this devil darer has only increased with time, for to this day the smell of vinegar reminds me of cackling hyenas, bowling balls, and hospital grade disinfectant. It should remind me of tasty hot chips at the beach on a balmy summer’s day. That is perhaps Scoof’s cruellest joke of all.