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Posts Tagged ‘stupid boys’

Imagine that you’re walking along one night (or running, as the case may be), and you’re approaching a pretty busy intersection. There are street lights, of course, but it’s still pretty shadowy.

All of a sudden you hear a buzzing sound.

You also see a couple of 20-something guys crouching down on the corner, staring intently into the middle of the street. And then you see the remote control in their hands.

Then, only then, do you realize that they’re actually driving a remote control car. Up and down and across a dark street. A street that leads to an intersection. An intersection that remains busy, though it’s past 10pm by that point.

Am I the only one who thinks that’s not the smartest of ideas?

If I’d been running in the street (admittedly not a super bright idea), and that thing had startled me, there are no assurances that I wouldn’t have tripped and injured myself.

Graceful, I am not. (And I cannot afford any injuries with just three days left until Marine Corps.)

Also, once I ran by and realized what it was, I started imagining my reaction had I been driving. If I’d seen something dart in front of my car, I’d have thought it was an animal, and probably slammed on the brakes or swerved. Neither of which is ideal in traffic.

I actually got more annoyed the more I thought about it, and became even more convinced that it could be dangerous.

You might argue that I was overreacting a bit, and that I’ve got “fun police” stamped all over me. And you might be right.

But if I were really the fun police, I would have kicked the car as I ran by, upending it and ruining their game.

I think the fact that I didn’t shows great restraint.

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The setting: history class.

The discussion: why study history?

The players: in addition to the general class, there’s the Smug Just Graduated Undergrad and Think I Know Everything guy, and there’s Professor K. Who, by the by, looks like this:

Anywho, the conversation:

SmugJGU: Is it even relevant to study history anymore? And if it is, how do you get more people to want to do it? It’s BORING on the middle school and high school levels, and most teachers don’t even care about it! In fact, the same guy that’s teaching you history is probably just a high school football coach. [turns to the professor, who just finished his history dissertation, by the way, and has told us about it] How do we get history to be interesting?

Professor K: Well, this is my job – I clearly already think it’s interesting. [beat] I also coached high school football for a couple years, and taught history classes.

SmugJGU: Uh…

Good luck, buddy. That was only week two of class.

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A few weeks back one of our softball captains, Vandy, came up to me in the office to touch base about a game that he was going to be missing.

Vandy: “Are you going to the game tomorrow?”

Me: *nod*

Vandy: “And is the boyfriend [who also plays] coming by to walk down with you guys?”

Me: “I know he’ll be there, but I’m not sure if he’ll come here, first. Why?”

Vandy: “Well, we just need someone to carry the equipment bag down to the field. I have it at my desk.”

Me: “Um…I can carry it down.”

Vandy: “I don’t know. It’s pretty heavy. Let me just check.

Me: “Vandy. I can carry the equipment bag. It’s not that heavy.” (Side note: It wasn’t even the bat bag. This one just had gloves, bases, and balls.)

Vandy: “Yeah…well…let me go see if any of the other guys are around.”

I shook my head as he walked away, mostly amused by his insistence and only vaguely insulted.

But then, just last night, I was picking up a package at the front desk of my apartment building and it happened again.

Front Desk Guy: “I don’t know. This box looks pretty heavy. I don’t know if you can handle it.

Me: “Well, why don’t I just try it and we’ll find out.

FDG: “Eh…are you sure? I mean it’s pretty big.” *eyes me up and down*

Me: You’ve got to be kidding me! Just give me my damn package! “I’m sure. Let’s just try.

Now, I appreciate FDG’s concern, really, I do. But as soon as he passed me the box I couldn’t believe how long he’d stalled. It’s not that it was light (it was a case of wine, sent by Mama, sadly NOT for my consumption), but it was only about 30 pounds! (Yes, you bet your ass I weighed it when I got upstairs.)

I may not have the guns of a body builder (not a bad thing, I don’t think), but I also don’t look like I’m going to break if I get pushed, so what gives? Consideration is nice and all, but I’m a big girl, fully capable lifting and carrying large objects.

Plus, suggesting that I can’t do something is only going to make me want to do it more.

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First: Thank you all for your comments yesterday on my bug problem. You both encouraged *and* freaked me out in one swell foop. It was wonderful!

And now. I’ve discussed my little neuroses on this blog before, but I’d like to address another. It’s a challenge I face every day, multiple times. Practically unavoidable.

It’s…*deep breath*…the revolving glass door.

revolvingdoor

I know it looks innocent and unassuming. But so do a lot of things before you get to know them. I think of it as less of a *door*, and more of a *trap*. But you see, I have good reason.

Freshman year in college, my friend’s family came down with his younger brother, and they took a bunch of us out to dinner. We got to the restaurant, and proceeded to take our turns in the revolving door, to enter. I was toward the end of the group and Keith’s younger brother was behind me. I went in, and just before I was to set foot inside the restaurant, the door stopped moving with a jerk.

I was trapped.

trapped_inside_the_box

Everyone else was in the restaurant, and I was being held hostage In The Door, by a 15-year-old, no less, who was laughing hysterically. NOT one of my finer moments.

It was harmless enough, sure, but to this day, whenever I have to use a revolving door (at least every day to enter and exit my office building!), I have make sure that a) it’s not spinning too fast, and b) there’s no one ready to pull shut behind me. And even then I dash in, spin fast, and dash out.

Quirks are cute, right? Right?

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