Yes, you heard me. Skateboarding is not an attractive “sport.” If I had a dollar for the amount of times I’ve heard “do a kickflip,” I could buy a new set of wheels. Please don’t ask me to do a skate trick when I can barely make it down the Genny hill on my flimsy-ass board, already late for lecture. Usually what I’ll do though, if I’m not heading to class, is hit a trick called the pop-shuv-it, because most people — especially people who shout “do a kickflip!” — don’t know the difference.
Fun fact, only 0.1% of the population can even do a kickflip. Fun fact #2, less than 0.1% of the population are trans (me, yippee)! So your chances of getting a trans-masc skater to hit a kick flip are really fucking rare. Just because all the gay men in that one yaoi skate anime look dope as hell doesn’t mean all skaters in real life can do those tricks on a daily basis. Maybe Andy Anderson can — (and he looks really sick!) but he’s a professional skater and definitely one of the best. If you think of it like a sliding scale, he’s kind of the max sexy you can get.
I’m not Andy Anderson (most people aren’t), nor am I much of a die-hard skater. I grew up in the southern suburbs, where every house looks identical to the next. Sure, I’d go to the skate park once in a while, but I’d mostly ride the board down the block to pick up the mail, then get back before the Texas sun scorched me alive. Rochester isn’t a great place to skate either. It’s either rain or shine, and most of the time, it’s rain, which will rust the skateboard bearings and make it feel like you’re skating with brick wheels. Looking for an easy fix? Replace your bearings with a ceramic set (semi-water-proof). All for the low, low price of 150 dollars! (I’m a college student living off of instant ramen — do you really think I have the funds for that?)
I only know how to do like, two tricks, but half the time I can’t even do them because I have a heavy ass backpack packed to the brim with all my notebooks, technology, and even an organic chemistry model kit. I’m usually late for class too, so if you really think I’m going to pop an ollie on the way to class, then you’re crazy!
And where the fuck do you think I’m putting my skateboard when I get to class? I can’t just fold it in flip phone style — there’s no easy way to store it. That thing has wheels, and will roll away from you if you don’t secure it. Sometimes, during a lecture, my board will suddenly decide to manipulate gravity and slam onto the ground with full force (waking everyone taking a quick snooze).
If you think that’s embarrassing, then forget walking with your friends after class. Unless they run cross country, they won’t be able to catch up (just simply the nature of skateboarding). However, if you decide to walk instead, and carry your skateboard around, you’ll accidentally hit people with the end of your board. Or the front of your board. Or hit yourself with your own board. But if you’re lucky and none of that happens, then it’s okay, you’ll just look like a skateboard-holding poser!
Fine, so you leave your friends and decide to skate alone to your next class. You’ll find yourself constantly scrutinizing the ground for any bumps or rocks. The tiniest stone could derail you and launch you into the jagged concrete. I once ate shit and shattered my glasses in front of Susan B. Anthony precisely when a tour group was walking down the path. Still, every bad fall is a lesson learned: Don’t skate the first year hill. Don’t go near the blacktop tear in the library lot. The area outside of Meliora Hall has a high sidewalk crack. Lesson after lesson (fall after fall), now I know all about crack(s) — but I guess I’ll save that for the “Skateboarding Is Sexy, Actually” article instead.
This article isn’t to discourage anyone from skating. In fact, skateboarding is fun and a great way to get around (quite efficient when you’re always tardy). But just know that, when your backpack’s contents are strewn all over the floor and you’re staring at the ceiling with a fat growing bruise on your butt, you won’t look as cool as in the magazines. Trust me, I’ve been there, and it’s not fun picking apart your busted plastic cyclohexane model, now stuck forever in boat form.
