I've gotta say, watching the kid I was babysitting involuntarily reenact a scene from Saw was not a good experience.

The family in question shall be referred to as the Fridays, because A) that's the day I sit for them and B) I doubt they want to be connected with the following story.

After a long walk, by which I mean a bus ride because I left the dorm way too late, and a nasty Starbucks sandwich, I arrived at the Fridays' house. I was informed that I had a list of errands to run, including but not limited to taking the youngest, whom I'll call Bob, to a birthday party for one of his friends. Let me note here that these friends, much like the Fridays, are rather wealthy, and that this party was being held the bowling alley of a country club.

I drove there in heavy DC traffic, happily weaving through the cars that would have liked to pass me, if they were cooler, and ignoring Bob's cries that I should use the map because otherwise I'd get us lost. Naturally, I got to the country club early, because I know my way around cities I've never even been to (kudos to those who get the reference), and we made our way into the bowling alley, which was in a basement...

FILLED WITH TWENTY SCREAMING SIX-YEAR-OLDS.

I'm not exaggerating. I COUNTED.

AAAAAAAAAARRRRGHHH!!!

I kept a pretty close eye on Bob during the hour and a half we were there because he's allergic to wheat and therefore couldn't have any cake (don't feel too bad - he practically OD'ed on frosting). However, when he and his friend Nicholas, the birthday boy himself, wanted to play in the men's room, I decided to give them their space. I called my mom and chatted for about ten minutes, really beginning to wonder what they were up to...

...When Nicholas ran out crying.

Assuming that Bob had caused some mayhem, I arrested Nicholas and demanded to know what was going on. Would you like to know what he said?

"Bob shut himself in a locker... and he can't get out... WAAAAAH!!!"

Kay.

I bolted into the men's room. Desperate screams and sobs echoed off the tile walls, guiding me to the lockers at the back of the room... AND THE BLOODY ARM POKING OUT OF ONE OF THEM.

I'm not into gory films, but I know that scene has been in at least a few of them. Picture it... splotches of blood dotting a pale arm trying to claw its way out of its grey-green prison... the terrified eyes of the captive... the hellish screams rattling the walls...

Did I freak? Well, relatively speaking, no. I tried to open the door, failed miserably, tried to crack it enough to free his hand, failed again, ran outside and located a janitor, who accomplished the above in short order.

I took Bob back downstairs and practically covered his arm in ice. As it turned out, what I had thought was blood had actually been red marker from fooling around earlier at school... but you must understand, the red marker was very realistic. Don't judge me!

Although no worse for the wear, Bob refused to believe that this story would ever be funny to him. Interestingly, it was funny to everyone else.