Every Freshman’s Worst Nightmare
[ 3 Comments ] Posted on 04.30.07 in college, funny stories
Today was a normal day. I got up at 10:30, watched Cold Pizza on ESPN, took my shower, and was beginning to loaf around when I got a test message from my good buddy James: “That was a hard test.” Naturally, I assumed he was talking about the morning version of the Macroeconomics final. I thought this to be rather unfortunate, because I knew I would have to take the nighttime version at 8:20 tonight. But then I thought to myself, “Gee, self: it’s 11:30. If James were to take the morning version of the final, he would have finished around 9:30. His text message is a bit late, unless…”
Oh, God.
Oh, God.
Oh, God.
I quickly looked at the syllabus. There it was: the only version of the final offered today was scheduled to be administered at 10:00. I threw on a shirt, slapped on my flip-flops, and proceeded to find a previously unknown to me fifth gear in my little, four cylinder, Ford Focus as I raced across the city, on my way to beg someone to let me take a test for which I was sorely unprepared. I made it to school by speeding down 13th Street, going over the curb and the wrong way down a one-way street, and parking illegally in a faculty lot outside of Mallory Hall. Angus was walking to his room and greeted me. I just said “Hey!”
I took off my flip flops and ran as fast as a fat guy can run clear across the campus to where the test was being given. I couldn’t really communicate with the TAs in the room at the time, as I was out of breath. They told me to go to Professor Dave Denslow’s office and wait. I did this, and as I walked into Matherly Hall, I noticed that I stunk. No, I reeked. No matter. If I didn’t get to take this exam, I fail the class. And I had only taken 12 credits this semester.
I skedaddled up the stairs to good old room 218, where I was pleasantly surprised to see more than one person in my position. I stated my case to the TA on duty, who then told me to wait. Fifteen minutes later, I was taking a rather difficult Macroeconomics final. I am going to be penalized 15 points for my inability to comprehend test times, but I guess that this story will serve as a warning to those inept fools like me who don’t care to read their syllabi.
Why you shouldn’t drink soda before bed
[ 1 Comment ] Posted on 03.09.07 in college, funny stories, television
The other night, I had nothing better to do with my nocturnal schedule, so I tuned into the local politics channel. They usually have replays of Alachua County commission meetings, live Florida Senate and House sessions, and the like. I kind of banked on the fact that this channel would be so boring that I would be able to fall asleep like a baby. I was wrong.
On the tube was, perhaps, the longest City Planning Commission meeting to have ever occurred. The docket was full of issues, but I happened to start watching in the middle of a proposal to rezone some rural residential land into commercial land for some utilities company, complete with a tower so that the business hub could communicate with their utility vehicles out and about in the field. Simple enough, right?
Wrong. I don’t really care to get into the specifics of the debate, since it’s pretty well boring and arguments lasted for (literally) hours. I just want to give a quick once-over of the good folks on the Alachua County City Planning Commission, who are, for all intensive purposes, as varied as the topics they discussed that evening.
First, we had Poor Statute Guy. This poor guy had to rattle off statutes and procedural rules to the otherwise uninformed members of the commission for hours. When his peers didn’t like what he said, they fought with him. But I mean, come on – Dude was just reading the rules.
Then, Hippy Environmental Activist. You know the kind: long hair, no tie, insists that society would be far better if we still traveled by horse and buggy, probably eats Hare Krishna Lunch.
Now, New Age Beatnick almost always agreed with Hippy Environmental Activist, which is convenient in that they sit next to each other. This guy reminded me of a thirty-something kind of guy who tries to be socially aware to impress college students. He probably also likes Matchbox 20.
Then, it got interesting. Presiding over the meeting was Skinny Jewish Conservative. Skinny Jewish Conservative was a curious fellow because not only did he disagree with Hippy Environmental Activist and New Age Beatnick, he fought against everyone (even Joe Redneck, who we will examine next).
Joe Redneck didn’t talk much. But when he did, he would insult Hippy Environmental Acitvist and New Age Beatnick in an effort to support his favorite utilities company; I guess he wasn’t a fan of Gainesville Regional Utilities, I’m not sure. I picture Joe walking out after the meeting to his 1989 Chevy 4×4 painted to look like the General Lee ‘69 Charger of Dukes of Hazzard fame.
Next down the line came Jose “Conflict of Interest” Perez, a Hispanic man who could barely speak English but abstained to vote on the proposal because his law firm had somehow landed the representation of one of the parties involved. Interestingly, this refusal culminated in the failure of a plurality after the voting process. This made me quite mad, as I had devoted almost three hours to watching these folks debate this proposal.
Sitting next to Jose Perez was the only Black Guy on the commission. Incidentally, he was the only cool guy on the commission. He waited until all the squabbling was over with between Hippy Environmental Activist, New Age Beatnick, Skinny Jewish Conservative, Joe Redneck, and Jose “Conflict of Interest” Perez to weigh in with a highly uninformative, unclear position. I say he was cool because he seemed to be above the commission process and it became clear to me that as the meeting proceeded, he ultimately came to the conclusion that becoming a member of this body was a mistake.
…Almost as big of a mistake as my decision to watch this meeting in the first place.
Here, Fishy Fishy
[ 3 Comments ] Posted on 06.05.06 in friends, funny stories
Last night, I went fishing with my good buddy Angus.
We loaded up Dad’s old pickup and headed out at 9:00, not leaving the pier until 1:30 in the morning. Now, I am not afraid to admit that I am not a trophy fisherman. In fact, something the television never taught me were the harsh reality of an angler’s life: expensive shrimp, slimy fish, and the pressure of watchful and knowledgeable eyes on the dock.
First off, I didn’t know how many shrimp to get. So I went with three dozen.
“I’d like three dozen medium shrimp, please.”
“We only have jumbo.”
“Okay, I’d like three dozen jumbo shrimp, please.”
“That’ll be $18.00.”
“Ooooooooh. Okay, I guess.”
So, I overshot the amount of jumbo shrimp we would need. Who knew? If those last 15 shrimp had lived through the night in the cramped recesses of my outrageously small bait bucket, they’d be really relieved that I let them go at the end of the night. But they didn’t. So they weren’t. Oh well.
And secondly: why in God’s name did God decide to make these fish so ungodly wet and slimy and icky? I know I sound girly and all, but good golly. These things are so gross! So, I left all the fish touching to my good buddy Angus. I know, he is more of a man than I will ever be. But without the soft, sensitive type of person that I have come to represent, how would Jerry’s Kids ever make any money? You think big, burly lumberjack types would add a dollar to their purchase of maple syrup and whiskey at the local Walgreen’s? I think not.
Coincidentally, one of these big, burly lumberjack types was at the pier last night. And he was quite the fisherman. You could look down the wooden structure to see this fat dude, sitting on his cooler, watching his four fishing poles and smoking his Lucky Stripes. It’s guys like this that make me wary of repeating the fishing experience. Here I am, flinching when grabbing my overpriced jumbo shrimp and trying to catch anything, and there’s this guy eyeing me up who actually knows what he’s doing. I get embarrassed easily, what can I say? I would much rather have been on my own pier, completely devoid of big, fat, burly guys named Phil who probably live in their mothers’ basements.
So, over four hours later and after hooking a baby shark (which, by the way, was ferocious) and what appeared to be a little redfish (which, by the way, was comparably ferocious), Angus and I decided to pack up and go home.
I have a newfound respect for the good people of Long John Silver’s.