Champions
Let me tell you about my morning at Hillsdale College, a place where people with keys only unlock half of the doors people might want to walk through. The people with keys also keep us safe and stop people from committing crimes. Nothing of mine has ever been stolen here.
I had to wake up early so I could get ready to meet Jan, a woman who cares about children. She is a new worker of the Child Abuse Prevention and Awareness. That group employs me, too, as an actor. I play an alien who learns about the sense of touch, how it is good, and how it is bad. It is a silly show that helps people, which is sometimes called a comedy. I met Jan in the new student union. She was wearing a thick black coat and two scarves, a pretty one and a useful one. She was surprised I wasn't drinking coffee. Because she is new to CAPA, I had to explain a lot of things to her, which was okay with me because I like talking. That's part of why I work for CAPA. Two of my friends were also there. They will do the show with me. They have never done it before. They weren't drinking coffee, either. After our meeting was over, Jan gathered her scarves and went to get some coffee, and I went downstairs to get some breakfast. After I had eaten some cereal, I drank some coffee.
I read more from Breakfast of Champions by Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. He died on April 11, 2007, which was the same day two car bombs blew up and killed thirty-three people in Algiers, the capital of Algeria. An article said people ten kilometers away could hear the explosions. The car bombs had been planted by a group of angry people called Al Qaida. (This group does not care about children. They blew up more people exactly eight months later, on December 11, 2007. One of the December bombs also blew apart a bus filled with college students, who just happened to be passing through their capital city that day.) Kurt Vonnegut, Jr., was born in 1922 on Armistice Day, which is what they called Veteran's Day before the second world war. Vonnegut called Breakfast of Champions his "fiftieth birthday present to myself" because he wrote it when he was fifty.
Then I walked through the snow to the Dow Center, which is a sort of hotel on the campus for people who aren't normally at the school. There is a long hallway with a big desk at the end. I had to check out a key so I could open a computer lab, which turned out to be opened for a photography class anyway. In order to get the key, I had to leave my identification card with a lady behind the front desk. The lady was ironing bedsheets because some of the maids did not come in to work today. My card is still with her.
As I was walking back down the long hallway, I lime-green paper sign caught my eye. It said, STROKE SCREENING, and it was on an open door. In the room, where Dow guests usually talk about what to do with words and money, there were women in loose-fitting clothes poking and prodding senior citizens, who were reclining in swivel chairs. An old man in a blue flannel shirt got upset because the woman who was poking and prodding him was not a doctor or even a nurse. She was a student of a college in another town. I think her name was Julie, and on this early Tuesday morning she was poking and prodding people who were tired of being poked and prodded. She will be a doctor or a nurse someday, I'm sure, but for now, that is her job. It must be hard. She saves the lives of people who are always getting their lives saved. I would like my life to be saved, personally, but then again, I've never had my life saved yet.
I had to wake up early so I could get ready to meet Jan, a woman who cares about children. She is a new worker of the Child Abuse Prevention and Awareness. That group employs me, too, as an actor. I play an alien who learns about the sense of touch, how it is good, and how it is bad. It is a silly show that helps people, which is sometimes called a comedy. I met Jan in the new student union. She was wearing a thick black coat and two scarves, a pretty one and a useful one. She was surprised I wasn't drinking coffee. Because she is new to CAPA, I had to explain a lot of things to her, which was okay with me because I like talking. That's part of why I work for CAPA. Two of my friends were also there. They will do the show with me. They have never done it before. They weren't drinking coffee, either. After our meeting was over, Jan gathered her scarves and went to get some coffee, and I went downstairs to get some breakfast. After I had eaten some cereal, I drank some coffee.
I read more from Breakfast of Champions by Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. He died on April 11, 2007, which was the same day two car bombs blew up and killed thirty-three people in Algiers, the capital of Algeria. An article said people ten kilometers away could hear the explosions. The car bombs had been planted by a group of angry people called Al Qaida. (This group does not care about children. They blew up more people exactly eight months later, on December 11, 2007. One of the December bombs also blew apart a bus filled with college students, who just happened to be passing through their capital city that day.) Kurt Vonnegut, Jr., was born in 1922 on Armistice Day, which is what they called Veteran's Day before the second world war. Vonnegut called Breakfast of Champions his "fiftieth birthday present to myself" because he wrote it when he was fifty.
Then I walked through the snow to the Dow Center, which is a sort of hotel on the campus for people who aren't normally at the school. There is a long hallway with a big desk at the end. I had to check out a key so I could open a computer lab, which turned out to be opened for a photography class anyway. In order to get the key, I had to leave my identification card with a lady behind the front desk. The lady was ironing bedsheets because some of the maids did not come in to work today. My card is still with her.
As I was walking back down the long hallway, I lime-green paper sign caught my eye. It said, STROKE SCREENING, and it was on an open door. In the room, where Dow guests usually talk about what to do with words and money, there were women in loose-fitting clothes poking and prodding senior citizens, who were reclining in swivel chairs. An old man in a blue flannel shirt got upset because the woman who was poking and prodding him was not a doctor or even a nurse. She was a student of a college in another town. I think her name was Julie, and on this early Tuesday morning she was poking and prodding people who were tired of being poked and prodded. She will be a doctor or a nurse someday, I'm sure, but for now, that is her job. It must be hard. She saves the lives of people who are always getting their lives saved. I would like my life to be saved, personally, but then again, I've never had my life saved yet.