Death by Mouse
[ No Comments ] Posted on 05.19.04 in random
I’m home alone this Saturday night because my mom went to a funeral party.
Funeral party? Seems rather abstract. Someone dies, so you invite all of your best friends over to boogie down. I love it.
In fact, when I die I request, nay, demand that my funeral be held at Chuck-e-Cheese. I realize the games are worse there than say, Celebration Station, but they serve beer there. I wouldn’t want to deny anyone their God-given right to drink themselves into a painless stupor following the death of a dear friend. In fact, to maintain the quazi-cheerfulness of the occasion, it’ll be a costume funeral. That’s right, no one gets in without a minimum of dyed hair and a silly hat. So if you’re a crabby McGee who won’t play, you can stay out of my funeral and hang out at the Burlington Coat Factory next door. Party pooper.
I left my funny in San Francisco
[ 8 Comments ] Posted on 05.15.04 in friends, funny stories, high school
So, today as I leave school on the bus, I’m explaining transcendentalism to Trizis when, two blocks away from school, our bus driver screams, “Aaah!” Actually, it was more like, “Aaaaaaghagahagahhhahahhhhahahahahahhhhhhh!”
And then the brakes slam on; apparently a car ran a stop sign and hit our front end.
No big whoop, our driver was crying and made sure everyone was okay, we were. And so, the great quest of May 14th, 2004 to get home was on.
You would assume that another bus would come, and shortly after the fire engine and highway patrol car came, one did come. It pulled up. And sat there. Three minutes went by, and it drove away. Ugh.
While waiting, our bus driver asked through a flood of tears: “Is everyone sure they’re okay?!?!” We responded that we were, and she would turn around. Then, twenty seconds later she would inquire again: “Is everyone positive they’re okay?!?” Again, we said we were. This endless cycle went on until the lovable fireman came onto the bus and went to every seat and asked, “Is everyone sure they’re okay?” Needless to say, we were a bit miffed but we understood that such a line of questioning might be necessary for insurance purposes.
Then, the school administrators came in golf carts. Well, only Liem was in a golf cart; the others were in a Saturn, but that’s essentially the equivalent to a golf cart. Then each of them came into the bus and asked, you guessed it, “Is everyone sure they’re okay?” About this time, an hour had passed and we had moved zero feet and filled out two pieces of paper. We were bored, so Trizis and I played Indian War with 48 cards.
Then the bus came, and according to Greglass, it was the same bus that pulled up and then went away before. How’s that for efficiency with gas costing 2 dollars per gallon these days?
By the time I got to the bus stop, I had made a reputation for myself on the Indian War front, gaining many cards having only started out with one. Then I came home at 3:30PM EST and ate a sandwich.
Public Restrooms
[ 7 Comments ] Posted on 05.10.04 in complaints, observations
By their very nature, public restrooms are very awkward places.
If you’re a guy, urinals have the capability to backfire on you. Sure, they’re convenient. Sure, they don’t require a lot of work on your part, but they have the potential of disaster. I’m not complaining about the fixtures themselves; running water is a commodity that we as a society could never teach ourselves to live without. However, the people who indulge in the porcelain handiness can make your experience a nightmare.
It never fails: Sometime in your life you’ll be standing there, minding your own business, when all of a sudden he comes in. Sure, there’s a row of twelve urinals and you’re the only one in the bathroom, but he takes it upon himself to come and do his business right next to you.
It’s not like a Boy Scout helping a little old lady across the street to earn his Merit Badge or anything, but this fellow apparently thinks you need help. You’re nervous and you want to empty yourself as quickly as possible to alleviate the tension between you and this overly friendly stranger who’s exposing himself just eight inches from you, but the stress that has just been created makes you stop. You can’t do it. Thus, the encounter is elongated.
The worst kind of neighbor is the talker.
“How about those Mets?”
“Some weather we’re having.”
I’m not at all an unsociable person; if someone talks to me on the street or in the local convenience store, I’ll converse with him, if only for a short time. But this is taking it too far. When a man is doing his thing in the only place he sees fit, when he’s gotten an iota of time to himself, it is simply deplorable for another to ruin that solitude.
But no matter, you stand there… waiting. Waiting for something to happen. You’re not quite sure what – for your newfound friend to leave, for you to get the courage to bolt, for a ton of bricks to fall on your neighbor’s head, something.
But then what? After you’re done, do you stick around to wash your hands? That would make the encounter even longer. But if you don’t you risk being thought less of by the others in the room. Either way you’ll have to make some sort of sacrifice, which makes bathrooms a social disaster for men.
But it’s not just for men, oh no. Women have it rough, too, sitting in those little stalls with so much to worry about:
What if someone peeks through the 1 inch crack between the door and the wall of the stall? Will you smile, ignore it, or make some quip about looking at your crack?
What if the lock fails and someone swings the door wide open? After that, will you have to hold the door closed with one leg as an added reinforcement?
What if you run out of toilet paper? Do you call to the person in the stall next to you and violate the unwritten law of no talking in bathrooms?
The woman’s restroom is a ticking time bomb for disaster, just like men’s. A hoard of strange people cramming into poorly kept, unclean rooms and emptying themselves is not my idea of fun. Potential confrontation with the unknown masses scares me, and that is why bathrooms are strange, weird places.