A Drop in the Bucket Excerpt 4: Truths of a Weary College Student

Originally Written 11/6/07

Introduction

This one is an over-the-top, exaggerated autobiography. This story was clearly written in a more judgmental time, before I had fully fallen in love with UNC. When I read this one out loud to my creative writing class, it sparked an interesting debate. I recall one of my classmates saying something to the effect of, "this character claims to be non-judgmental but then judges everyone!" I recall kind of smiling and saying, "Exactly!" We're all capable of hypocrisy; I think this came out as a humorous take on that idea, even if my original intentions weren't capable of being as profound. I mostly just wanted to make fun of the idiosyncrasies I noticed on campus at that time. However, like most of my stuff, it's overly-wordy and choppy, but it's got some nuggets in there.

There are some inside jokes that only UNC students at that time would understand: the "DTH" is the "Daily Tar Heel," the student news publication; Gary was/is a hellfire preacher that used to stand in the Pit - a central part of campus - and preach loudly about the evils of the HOE-MOE-SEX-YILLS; Mike Easley was governor at the time; Lenoir is a dining hall on campus; most of the titles in italics are Metallica songs; it turns out I was right about Facebook (which had only come out a couple years prior); and there's even an on-the-nose reference to my Chinese folklore class that comes up later in this collection! You'll also see later that my hatred for cigarettes hasn't gotten any better. (But really, the food at UNC's dining halls weren't this bad, unless you ask Lewis Black, who - I kid you not - once joked on campus that he'd rather kill himself than eat at Lenoir).

Story

My name is Chris and I think the smokers here at UNC Chapel Hill pick out targets. I am convinced Facebook was invented for that very purpose. And also to take over innocent students' lives while simultaneously setting them up for future job failures when their employers see pictures of them doing a keg stand. I always wondered if that would be a plus to the employer of a bar...

On my way from class, I was walking through the lower quad towards Wilson Library, iPod ear buds deep in my ear canals, at a normal pace (you know, approximately at the For Whom the Bell Tolls intro). The autumn leaves hadn't yet fallen, their discolored bodies barely attached to their branches, waiting for a gust to carry them to a grassy-or-masonry grave. It was uncharacteristically chilly for October; at the same time there were Carolina Blue skies all the way. Despite the chill, on days like that you tend not to notice, despite my innate pansy-ness to the cold due to my Floridian upbringing. It was all quite serene; that is, until I realized that I was late for another DTH meeting.

Oh fucknuggets.

I kicked my pace up to at least a Hit the Lights verse as I ran to the Union, trying my hardest not to be late yet again to the editorial board meeting. Then I picked up a foul odor. It couldn't be the smell of Satan because Gary was standing right there in his little holy corner in the quad. I held my breath.

Cigarettes.

I followed the trail of smoke to the fingers of a Paris Hilton clone wandering around campus chewing gum like cud, the shadow of her ridiculously huge Mickey-Mouse-Ear sunglasses comprising the entirety of her head's shadow. I remember a time when I was little and sunglasses were reserved only for the truly badass, like people in bands. Times had changed, apparently, and standards have been softened... I swear, it's like somebody held down Mickey Mouse, took a chain saw to his ears, and decided that they would make awesome sunglasses. Go figure. I hurried to get past her so I could breathe again, shouting, "Thanks for the cancer!" and continued walking through the crowded sea of students.

"OH-EM-GEE you're totally welcome!" she said, waving at me emphatically. Looking back at her through my own sunglasses, I shook my head.

...Seriously?

I finally crossed the Pit, made it to the Union and ultimately to the Daily Tar Heel office. Why did the meeting have to be earlier again? The editorial board is interesting to say the least. We write fifteen editorials a week and try our hardest to pass them off as, you know, genuinely informed opinions. The meetings always run late, especially now that it's municipal elections time.

There's a reference in ancient Chinese texts, when someone else thinks they're super wise, they'll always speak to someone else of a higher rank to impress them for three days and three nights. (Editor's note: Much more on this later!). That basically describes some of the crazier members of the board. So needless to say, the meeting ran late again. By the time I zombie-ambled out of the Union, I was actually kinda-sorta excited about eating Lenoir food. Imagine that.

I handed the nice, old lady my OneCard. She took it and glared from the picture on the card to me.

"You ain't from around here, are you?"

"Well, technically, no, but I am a student here."

"I'm just making sure, cuz you don't dress like anyone else 'round here"

I looked down at my baggy shorts and flipflops. It wasn't that different.

"You ain’t one of those tourists, are ya?”

I took back my OneCard without bothering to answer, and I ascended the broke escalator. I wondered what kind of exciting dish I'd have at my disposal. By "exciting" I, of course, meant "risky" and/or "life-threatening." I would even take Beef-a-Roni® at this point, or maybe the "lasagna." I turned the corner, my hunger getting the better of my survival instincts, and the main course was... hot dogs?

...Seriously?

Hot dogs? I could do hot dogs in my dorm. By myself. I'd already used up a meal on my OneCard though, so I might as well get the usual slice of pizza, salad-with-obscure-dressing, and the bowl of fruit. Then I went to grab a tray along with my "silverware" to find that the trays were not there. I glanced up from the rack and saw a sign:

Trays Waste Energy and Water! Don't Use a Tray to Save the Environment!

...Seriously?

This campus is confusing. They water the bricks every morning along with the AstroTurf intramural fields during a severe drought... but they want take away our lunch trays? I mean, was the drought really so bad that Mike Easley was like, "Nope. Nope. Take away their food trays immediately"?

So, I clown-walked to a seat (you know... without a tray) juggling with a plate and bowl on my left arm and another bowl on my right while holding a glass of water in my left hand. I wondered, since the "glasses" were made out of cheap plastic that was broken half the time, shouldn't they be called "plastics"? As I considered that mind-blower, my pants started vibrating. I mean, my cell phone started to ring.

"Hello?" I asked while commencing my meal.

A fast-paced girl's voice emanated from the other side. It was my friend Sarah.

"Hey, Bucket!"

"Oh hey, what's up?" I swallowed some salad. Was that a piece of plastic in there?

"Nothing too much, returning your phone call from earlier n' stuff."

"Oh, cool beans. So, I had to tell you, I was walking down Stadium Drive yesterday. As I was passing the Bell Tower I pass this girl."

"Uh huh."

"So, you know the girls who like to dress as crazy as possible just to be noticed? The ones that are like, 'Goddamnit, look at me! I'm different! I'm original!'? The ones I always call 'Ms. Original'?"

The juicy irony behind this is that all those girls dress pretty much exactly the same way.

"Um, I guess so... why?"

"Because I think the girl I saw was their leader."

Sarah laughed. "How so?"

"So, this Ms. Original was walking, struttin' her stuff. And she was completely covered in black. Black spandex, black short skirt, black shirt... but her boots and shawl... holy crap..."

"What?"

"They were some ungodly color resembling pink that you could probably see from space."

Sarah laughed again, a little nervously. A pity laugh.

"I wear pink boots."

I paused.

"Let me rephrase that: it was probably 70 degrees outside yesterday and these weren't just boots. These were bigger than snowboarding boots. They were halfway up to her knees. Honestly, I think my vision in my left eye is impaired because they were so freaking bright."

"Chris, why do you have to be so judgmental sometimes?"

"I'm not being judgmental! So many people around here try to portray themselves to be something so incredibly great, which is fine, but they do it here mainly with their clothing and political affiliations. Whatever happened to living a good life, being a good person and showing people who you are through your actions? It's especially hard not to be judgmental of somebody else when they dress like Paris Hilton."

Sarah laughed again.

"True, but now you're generalizing."

"Yeah, I know. I'm allowed to, though."

"Fair enough, I guess. I have to head out for now, but have a good day, Bucket! Don't let the campus get you down too much."

It didn't, really, but the constant weirdness of some folks on campus did get to me after a while. By the time I hung up the phone, most of my meal was gone. I finished up and walked back to the dorm. By this time, it was almost sunset. I'd have just enough time to start writing that short story and learning those new Chinese characters for tomorrow's quiz... and what the hell is that?

Emerging beyond the three metal poles in the ground right beyond Ram's Head was a girl donned in boots. Not just ordinary Uggs, these had what looked like fake, thick, brown fur draped down... and literally dragging behind her for a foot or two.

...Seriously?

It looked like somebody had tied down Chewbacca, taken a lightsaber to his feet, and thought, "Hmm, those would make remarkable boots." Apparently today was the day for amputation thoughts.

"GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOWLLLLLLLLTH!" I shouted as I passed her. Either she didn't notice or she didn't care. Thoroughly impressed by my Chewbacca roar impression, I kept on going until I made it down the stairs, across the street to the sidewalk adjacent to Ehringhaus Fields. There I was immensely slowed by a flock of frat boys, migrating to south campus for Thursday night. They were taking up the entire sidewalk. The leader of the flock, clearly more fratty than the rest of them, wore five bright pink and green polos, each with a popped collar.

...Seriously?

"Hey, excuse me, could I get by?"

They turned around. The smallest one, clearly the under-ranked pledge of the group (he was only wearing two polos with popped collars) said, "I dunno... can you?"

I rolled my eyes as they all exchanged drunken high fives like he had invented a knee-slapper. I regarded the leader of the group, "I didn't know you guys traveled in flocks... you must be the Alpha Male."

They paused for a second, then slurred, "Nah, dumbass, we're from Sigma Chi."

Then they exchanged high fives again as I walked past them.

"Yeah, right, you walk away... damn tourists."

Why did everyone think I wasn’t a student? I turned around, "Put your damn collars down. You all look like a bunch of drunken Draculas." Not the best comeback, but enough to give me the last word.

***

The funny thing about dreams is that when your alarm clock goes off, you generally incorporate the alarm sound into the dream itself. So, when my iPod alarm clock went off and started blaring the Indiana Jones theme while I was dueling Barack Obama with a swordfish, the dream me thought it was supposed to be battle music. And, of course, any dream with the Indy theme in it is a dream worth continuing.

However, once I did bolt awake and realize I was going to be late to Psyc 101, I knew the fight for Democracy would have to be fought another day. So, I jumped out of bed and ran to Carroll Building, late.

Once I got there, I had to shuffle in past another Paris Hilton who was on the end of the aisle to get a seat. She was hard at work, not taking notes while checking out her Facebook news feed. It was a long class. Doctor Loeb kept us literally 8 minutes past the period and I was about to be late for Chinese Culture Through Narrative... all the way across campus.

I jumped past the aisle so I didn't have to butt-slide with Paris Hilton and ran out the lecture door. Flinging open the door to Carroll, I ran, dodging pedestrians and a few lazy bastards on mopeds. I had to get all the way Graham Memorial in five minutes. It was possible. I saw someone with a huge mohawk, complete with a leather bonnet tied to it. A Ms. Original saw the regalia and gave her an oh-no-you-didn't-come-up-with-something-more-original than I did look. Golden. The Paris Hilton I was sitting next to in the lecture stood in the doorway from which I had just run.

"Run, tourist, run!!!"

I ran tooth and nail, dodging Paris Hiltons, Ms. Originals, errant Frisbees, and Gary ("See? Only homos run like that!"). I ran past construction zones, all inconveniently placed in the most convenient routes to north quad. I ran in front of cars like all college kids seem to do, jumped over pets like hurdles, and pivot-dodged some rabidly-tame squirrels at the last moment, running at least at a Battery pace. Sweat flowed from my pores as my blue over shirt tagged behind me like it was trying to catch up. The Bell Tower finished tolling for the twelfth time as I managed to reach the lecture hall in Graham Memorial. I yanked open the door to the hall... to find empty seats, save one.

"Where the hell is everyone?" I managed to ask the occupant of that seat in between labored breaths.

"Oh, the class was cancelled! Didn't you get the email? It was sent about thirty seconds ago!"

I just stared, my eyes dim from oxygen deprivation.

...Seriously?