As we were walking back toward the dorm past the belltower, we were feeling much better after a breath of fresh air. I noticed a stiff crow lying on the ground. I kicked it at MKW, who squirmed like a little girl. I laughed and we went inside to watch The Simpsons.
A half hour later I was thinking about the dead crow and all the things we could do with it.
I was amazed at MKW’s drunken ingenuity, but after thinking about it, I decided no matter how good of friends Barry and I were, he’d surely murder our asses if we did that to him. Barry doesn’t like to be the butt of jokes.
I am up there with your average accountant when it comes to the ability to solve problems mechanically. I’ve always had the resource of skilled technicians who were usually willing to work for beer, so it’s been rare for me to ever have to get my hands dirty myself and I tend to avoid doing so at all costs.
The motor fired up as expected. Satisfied, I began to mow. Then five seconds later, it goes cough, cough, bog down like it’s in really heavy wet grass, cough some more, stall.
‘A few bolts here, a few more there… this doesn’t look too difficult’, I thought to myself. I momentarily thought about taking it the lawn mower repair shop that is located about 1/2 mile from the house. No, I can handle this.
Would you mind participating in our survey? I’ll only take a minute or two of your time.”
“OK, but I worship the devil,” I offered matter of factly.
Shortly after walking into the store, I felt the familiar first gurgle in my stomach that would imply that mudbutt was imminent. The gurgle had that low pitched “bloop” feeling like when they first change the five-gallon container on the water cooler. I clenched my butt-cheeks together, foolishly ignoring the churning sensation in my gut and proceeded to the back of the store to begin grocery shopping.
Part one in a series of stories about my adventures living in an urban neighborhood in the city of Grand Rapids.
This 19 year old girl was hellbent on securing the safety of her minimum wage job by egregiously disregarding common sense and basic customer service.
Bury me with lots of sunblock when I die, because I am certainly going to hell for this.
I know that I personify a simple refusal to grow up, and I don’t care very much either. But sometimes things happen that make me think that maybe I have taken things too far.
It isn’t often that I am able to witness an act of absolute humility and shamelessness as the astute acknowledgment of private, personal dirty deeds gone way, way wrong.
I checked the caller ID and it said the name of the same person who’d emailed me earlier that night. I was going to ignore it, as this person has a history of drunk dialing at all hours of the night, but he usually doesn’t leave messages if I don’t answer. So I dialed my voice mail just to make sure he wasn’t in jail or something.
