The Universe Hates Me: Installment 2

There was supposed to be a large, wet, ugly weather system moving in on Tuesday, so I decided to skip my morning classes. Considering that my first class began at 8:15AM, ended just fifteen minutes before my next class, involving a mad dash across campus, one of my professors couldn't care less whether we showed up or not and the material of my second class had been the main focus of one of my classes last semester, skipping wasn't a difficult decision to make.

Fittingly, I stayed up late, eating and talking with friends. I remembered after midnight that my professor was going to hand back our papers on Tuesday. This was the class where I actually cared what I got on the paper, because it was a quarter of my grade. This was the class that started at 8:15 and for which I would normally have gone to bed two hours earlier. Crap.

Tuesday morning was a struggle. I drifted in and out of consciousness, inventing reasons to get up and go to class and more convincing reasons to stay in bed and sleep. At last I made the agonizing decision to get up, go to class and find out my grade on the paper. I decided I would catch a bus that would take me almost the entire distance to my class, figuring this would make my morning a bit easier. 

I rushed out of my room and sprinted to the bus stop. I waited. The bus was late. I waited. The bus was still late. And it was raining. I kept waiting. The bus was still late and it was still raining. Finally, the bus rounded the corner, coming toward me, the cavalry charge from the William Tell Overture accompanying it (figuratively speaking, of course... the fanfare was just in my head). Beaming at the thought of being dry and warm and maybe even getting off my feet, I stepped up to the curb. The bus sped past me. The driver didn't even glance at me. 

Awesome. Looks like I'm walking to class. Actually, I only have five minutes to get there. Looks like I'm power-walking to class.

When I get to class, I sit down and tear off my soggy coat, hat and gloves, completely winded from the walk and my dash up three flights of stairs. To open class, my professor says, "Well, guys, I haven't even had a chance to look at your papers yet, you'll get those back on Thursday..."

Thanks, Universe!

The Universe Hates Me: Installment 1

So, this series is kind of inspired by fmylife.com, but this kind of stuff keeps happening to me.

Last week, I had a paper due. Unfortunately, the battery of my computer had lost the ability to recharge, so my computer was about to die. Because of this, I was working in the computer lab of my building. I finished my paper and it came time to print. I rush upstairs to my room ("rush" because the paper was due in an hour), planning to quickly turn on my computer and use its last surge of power to print my paper off. To my dismay, I discover that our printer is out of paper. I run to a friend's room (Friend A, from now on) and she gives me a couple sheets of paper. I dash back to my room, fire up the computer and begin printing. If I haven't mentioned it already, my printer is evil. As such, it promptly mangles both pieces of borrowed paper.

Sighing resignedly, I go back to Friend A and ask if I can borrow both her computer (as mine has officially died) and her printer. She obliges and I begin to print. The printer produces one normal page before the words on the page begin to get steadily lighter and lighter. It has run out of ink. Unfortunately, Friend A does not have a replacement ink cartridge. 

I say, "Hey, no problem, I'll just go use the printer in the computer lab." The printer in the lab costs money, but I'm willing to pay for the convenience of having a paper to turn in in thirty minutes. When I get down there, I learn that you can only pay for printing using money stored in your ID card. I don't have any money on my ID card. Luckily for me, there is a kiosk in the lobby I can use to put money on my card. I run upstairs and grab my wallet. I run back downstairs and discover that the machine only takes ones. I don't have any ones. I run upstairs to ask my roommates, but none of them have singles either. I fight the urge to curl into the fetal position.

I enter Friend B's room and am able to use both her computer and her printer. I successfully print out my paper and feel forever indebted to Friend B. I spoke to Friend A later that day and she informed me that her printer was not, in fact, out of ink at all. It was printing smoothly again, even though she hadn't replaced the ink. Overall, this was a stunning example of the universe plotting against me. At least I got a good cardio workout in the process.

Why Do The Cute Ones Always Drop Acid?

So, I was on the bus last night at around 8 o'clock. As the bus was driving along, the guy next to me asked if I was getting off at the next stop. At first, I was confused but quickly realized that my leaning-forward-to-avoid-the-mysterious-item-of-clothing-left-on-my-seat-by-a-previous-passenger could have been interpreted as leaning-forward-as-preparation-to-get-off-at-the-next-stop. At any rate, we started talking. 

    He was very friendly, funny, relatable, cute, etc. and I was like, "Awesome! This kind of thing never happens to me." Somehow how we started talking about music, specifically the Beatles and he asked me what my favorite album was. I gave a longwinded response and finally concluded that I like the White Album. His response was:

                   Yeah, the White Album is a good one. But I remember this one time, I was dropping acid and I listened to Abbey Road, and it's been my favorite album ever since.

    Great. Just great. That's exactly how I thought that story was going to wind up.

That's 2.5% For You!

Do you ever wish you could tip cashiers? I was at Target today and was checked out by a woman in her 60s. I mean, "checked out" like she was the cashier and I was the customer and she scanned my items through the cash register. She didn't look me up and down or wink at me or anything like that. In fact, she did just the opposite. I don't think she made eye contact with me at all. She spent the entire transaction talking to the old man who had just completed his transaction and who I assumed would walk away, as a normal customer does. He didn't.
I really wish I could have tipped her. When she looked down at the two pennies, a paper clip and some pocket lint I would have given her, that would send a message. Like "Hey, lady, maybe you should focus on my transaction instead of continuing to talk to a guy who is probably hitting on you about the failing car industry. You are too old for that kind of behavior!" Hussy.