I let the police shoot me with a Taser gun, and boy, did it hurt.
It felt like someone slammed a spiked two-by-four into my back and then the ground around me got hit by lightning. Tiny fires of electric pain pulsed through my muscles. The little bit of control I had was dedicated to the mantra: "It's five seconds. Five seconds."
That's how long a Taser stun lasts. For some reason, back in 2004 I agreed to be shot by the newest weapon in the police department's arsenal. Afterall, I thought then, a good reporter does her research. Well, these days I would take someone else's word for it.
Back then, I figured: Five seconds of pain is nothing compared to growing up with eight brothers. I've had my hair catch on fire from wrestling near the stove. I've been stabbed by a tree. I thought for sure I'd lost the tip of my thumb during a door-slamming incident.
So, what's five seconds?
My head snapped back. The jolt lifted me to my tiptoes. My legs stiffened. My whole body was a funny bone.
By the time I got out an "ouch," it was over. (I swear I did not swear.)
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That was f'in awesome.
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