Scarred for life.
Kristina, you are correct in your assessment. I am a slacker. That's why I wrote an entire eight page paper last night, and that's why I'm providing you all with this additional entry when I should be studying for finals.
Sometimes, my hair dryer shoots random sparks at my head and kind of whines at me. I'm hoping it will be OK if I don't lick it or anything. My hair has yet to catch on fire, but you know what they say: It only has to happen once.
Is it Christmas yet?
Never mind. I have a story.
The big Christmas choir concert/service is called Vespers around these parts and it takes place way off campus. For three of the four services, I rode to and from the church/Vespers location with my friend Alyssa. However, on Sunday, she informed me that she would be joining her family afterwards, and hence, could not give me a ride home. This information alone was distressing, but I soldiered on and asked Heather if she could give me a ride. She said yes! I was psyched. Oh if I had known then...
After the concert, I drank some punch and waited for Heather. For a half an hour. Several people saw me sitting against the wall, lonely with my pity-me-cookies and loser-bullseye beverage in hand and said things like, "Hey, we're leaving now, if you want to ride with us..." "Oh, no no." I said. "I don't want things to get too complicated. I'll just wait here for Heather." So, I waited. For a long time I kept my eye on Heather. Then, suddenly, I looked up from my program and empty napkin and she was gone. And so was everybody else. The catering staff looked as though they would be unsympathetic to my plight.
You know that feeling you got when you were six and you realized the lady you had been following in the supermarket for the past five minutes wasn't your mother? I recognized that feeling on Sunday at age eighteen. The difference is, at age eighteen, people usually assume you have your own address memorized. No one offered to help me find my mommy. I wandered around the empty church for a while half heartedly checking bathrooms and closets as my situation grew more futile with each passing, "Heather? Where the hell are you???" Never before had my inability to keep more than four phone numbers in my head at the same time been so inconvenient. After a while I found myself checking shelves for blankets and hoping they didn't turn the heat off in the church at night. Wouldn't that make for an ironic death: refusal to obtain license due to fear of accidentally mauling self and or others in a motorized vehicle causes college freshman to freeze to death.
In the end, a sort of creepy, hard-of-hearing old guy from the church spotted me on the verge of tears and offered me a ride back to campus. I thought to myself, "Well, he could be a child molester, but what else am I going to do? I choose death in a heated car!" My gamble paid off big in the end, because he safely got me back to campus where my homework and a worried call from Heather were cheerfully awaiting my arrival.
Now is it Christmas?
Sometimes, my hair dryer shoots random sparks at my head and kind of whines at me. I'm hoping it will be OK if I don't lick it or anything. My hair has yet to catch on fire, but you know what they say: It only has to happen once.
Is it Christmas yet?
Never mind. I have a story.
The big Christmas choir concert/service is called Vespers around these parts and it takes place way off campus. For three of the four services, I rode to and from the church/Vespers location with my friend Alyssa. However, on Sunday, she informed me that she would be joining her family afterwards, and hence, could not give me a ride home. This information alone was distressing, but I soldiered on and asked Heather if she could give me a ride. She said yes! I was psyched. Oh if I had known then...
After the concert, I drank some punch and waited for Heather. For a half an hour. Several people saw me sitting against the wall, lonely with my pity-me-cookies and loser-bullseye beverage in hand and said things like, "Hey, we're leaving now, if you want to ride with us..." "Oh, no no." I said. "I don't want things to get too complicated. I'll just wait here for Heather." So, I waited. For a long time I kept my eye on Heather. Then, suddenly, I looked up from my program and empty napkin and she was gone. And so was everybody else. The catering staff looked as though they would be unsympathetic to my plight.
You know that feeling you got when you were six and you realized the lady you had been following in the supermarket for the past five minutes wasn't your mother? I recognized that feeling on Sunday at age eighteen. The difference is, at age eighteen, people usually assume you have your own address memorized. No one offered to help me find my mommy. I wandered around the empty church for a while half heartedly checking bathrooms and closets as my situation grew more futile with each passing, "Heather? Where the hell are you???" Never before had my inability to keep more than four phone numbers in my head at the same time been so inconvenient. After a while I found myself checking shelves for blankets and hoping they didn't turn the heat off in the church at night. Wouldn't that make for an ironic death: refusal to obtain license due to fear of accidentally mauling self and or others in a motorized vehicle causes college freshman to freeze to death.
In the end, a sort of creepy, hard-of-hearing old guy from the church spotted me on the verge of tears and offered me a ride back to campus. I thought to myself, "Well, he could be a child molester, but what else am I going to do? I choose death in a heated car!" My gamble paid off big in the end, because he safely got me back to campus where my homework and a worried call from Heather were cheerfully awaiting my arrival.
Now is it Christmas?
posted by Caitlin at 7:58 AM
3 Comments:
CAITLIN! oh my dear lord. if i didn't say no to human contact, i'd hug you.
This post was sad. Why wasn't it funnier, Caitlin? Maybe next time the deaf old man could be Larry. Also, I empathize with your hairdryer plight. Mine blew up in Poland.
I'm down with Larry.
Remember that time you left the diner a little present under the table?
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