the trip back to school, and other fun occurrences
Where I last left my dedicated little LJ readers, dad was snoozing, my mom was assaulting our fruit, and Dave and I were planning my getaway in a small aquarium. As luck would have it however, such a get away was not to take place, and home life continued in typical home-life fashion.
Part I.
Once Yom Tov ends (expression used when referring to a holly day of one sort or another, for all my friends not quite up to date with the Jewish lingo), and my dad is nice enough to drive me to 30th street station in Philadelphia, to catch the 11:15 pm train back to DC.
Part II.
Unfortunately, the train receives word that I am arriving, for it, aware that I am not the lightest packer around, claims death before carrying around one more college student-vagabond and blows its engine somewhere before NY, causing the inevitable 2 hour delay.
My father wants to take me home, let me get a good night's rest, and catch the first train home the next morning, however I am quite adamant about returning to DC that night, and besides, a drunk black man has just noticed me reading the interesting narratives of Olaudah Equiano, and it is making for very stimulating discussion about modern views on slavery.
My father naps on the bench while we converse.
Part III.
I arrive at Union Station at 3 in the morning, and, concerned about catching a cab home, agree to go with the first sketchy looking Pakistani that offers to take me, as opposed to carefully sizing up my options and eliminating the most obviously dangerous choices, as I typically do at 3 in the morning at Union Station.
Part IV.
The cab driver opens the front passenger side door to reveal 5 college students already crammed inside. Sure that he couldn't possibly fit another, I look up at him questioningly, to which he responds by taking my bags from me, locking them in the trunk, and indicating that i should simply sit on the lap of the 6 ft. something thuggish looking basketball player who was already leaning at a particularly compromising angle to fit his body into the front seat.
Part V.
I oblige.
Part VI.
I soon learn that the male whose lap I have just inhabited’s name is Omar. He is a Philly boy, born and raised, a sociology major, and a sophomore at GW. Appropriately, he plays basketball for my school, and he was on his way back from Philly because his brother just had a baby girl who they recently named Janné.
I remain convinced that he was actually quite smitten with me, and is neglecting to show it only for fear of disrupting that angry thug look that has obviously been serving him so well.
Part VII.
Our favorite cab driver drops me 3 blocks away from my door, throws my suitcases on the side walk, says I'm young and can walk, over charges me, and hints at a tip for, not only getting me home (or somewhere in its general vicinity) but finding me a new man as well.
VIII
I pay the cab driver what he asks and then some, because life is too short to squabble over trival things, wish Omar the finest of all nights, and begin the walk back to my dorm.
THE END
Part I.
Once Yom Tov ends (expression used when referring to a holly day of one sort or another, for all my friends not quite up to date with the Jewish lingo), and my dad is nice enough to drive me to 30th street station in Philadelphia, to catch the 11:15 pm train back to DC.
Part II.
Unfortunately, the train receives word that I am arriving, for it, aware that I am not the lightest packer around, claims death before carrying around one more college student-vagabond and blows its engine somewhere before NY, causing the inevitable 2 hour delay.
My father wants to take me home, let me get a good night's rest, and catch the first train home the next morning, however I am quite adamant about returning to DC that night, and besides, a drunk black man has just noticed me reading the interesting narratives of Olaudah Equiano, and it is making for very stimulating discussion about modern views on slavery.
My father naps on the bench while we converse.
Part III.
I arrive at Union Station at 3 in the morning, and, concerned about catching a cab home, agree to go with the first sketchy looking Pakistani that offers to take me, as opposed to carefully sizing up my options and eliminating the most obviously dangerous choices, as I typically do at 3 in the morning at Union Station.
Part IV.
The cab driver opens the front passenger side door to reveal 5 college students already crammed inside. Sure that he couldn't possibly fit another, I look up at him questioningly, to which he responds by taking my bags from me, locking them in the trunk, and indicating that i should simply sit on the lap of the 6 ft. something thuggish looking basketball player who was already leaning at a particularly compromising angle to fit his body into the front seat.
Part V.
I oblige.
Part VI.
I soon learn that the male whose lap I have just inhabited’s name is Omar. He is a Philly boy, born and raised, a sociology major, and a sophomore at GW. Appropriately, he plays basketball for my school, and he was on his way back from Philly because his brother just had a baby girl who they recently named Janné.
I remain convinced that he was actually quite smitten with me, and is neglecting to show it only for fear of disrupting that angry thug look that has obviously been serving him so well.
Part VII.
Our favorite cab driver drops me 3 blocks away from my door, throws my suitcases on the side walk, says I'm young and can walk, over charges me, and hints at a tip for, not only getting me home (or somewhere in its general vicinity) but finding me a new man as well.
VIII
I pay the cab driver what he asks and then some, because life is too short to squabble over trival things, wish Omar the finest of all nights, and begin the walk back to my dorm.
THE END