a cold medicine confession
The only reason I'm telling you any of this is because I feel kind of weird and loopy. Like a rollercoaster. A rollercoaster of LURRRRVE. I don't even know what that means. But seriously, this is confidential stuff. Like, it's only ever been in one place before: my brain.
So, I don't know about any of you who don't go to the University of Arizona, but here in Tucson there is this like, proliferation, of golf carts.
There are golf carts for the maintenance crew, golf carts for the student government, golf carts for the President. Golf carts for ten minute trips and golf carts for ten second trips. Golf carts for carrying VIPs and golf carts for carrying palm trees. One time, my friend Lauren almost crashed a golf cart whilst learning to drive at the age of twenty (she didn't get her license until she was twenty-three). But above all, the main use of golf carts on our campus is to shuttle injured or handicapped people to and from various locations on campus. You can get from one end of campus to the other in fifteen minutes with a good set of legs, but good luck otherwise. I always wanted to pretend that I was gravely injured so that someone would pick me up from my dorm or from my parking garage and drive me to my classes.
But here's where the confession part comes in: my dirty little secret. Every time -- every single time -- a golf cart passes me while I'm walking, I think to myself: "Hey, stop! Gimme a ride!" I am lazy. I am so lazy that the five minute walk to the burrito cart makes me want to shove something into my eyeball rather than have to pick up my feet, one after the other. Walking to class, running extremely late: "Hey, stop! Gimme a ride!" Walking to class, on time: "Hey, stop! Gimme a ride!" Walking to eat lunch: "Hey, stop! Gimme a ride!" Walking to my car, and the driver is dirty and stinky: "Hey, stop! Gimme a ride!" Several times I've had to hold my mouth physically shut to keep myself from saying it out loud.
But today, oh today I reached a new low. So low that I should probably just be put out of my misery.
I was walking to turn in my final grades -- my very last act of the semester before vacation -- plodding along diligently and torturously, thinking about how I just wanted to be in my bed with a box of tissues and season five of Stargate, when this dude in a wheelchair starts buzzing on by. Can you see where this is going? This guy would probably kill to be me, with healthy legs and an iron stomach and an implacable will to shop, and here's me, thinking, "HEY, STOP! CAN I HAVE A RIDE?" And then I was struck dead by God for daring to picture myself riding on this poor guy's lap, just chugging along on his battery powered electric wheelchair. I am the devil, I am scum, I am the mold that lives on the scum.
So, on behalf of all humanity: I'm sorry, I really am.
So, I don't know about any of you who don't go to the University of Arizona, but here in Tucson there is this like, proliferation, of golf carts.
There are golf carts for the maintenance crew, golf carts for the student government, golf carts for the President. Golf carts for ten minute trips and golf carts for ten second trips. Golf carts for carrying VIPs and golf carts for carrying palm trees. One time, my friend Lauren almost crashed a golf cart whilst learning to drive at the age of twenty (she didn't get her license until she was twenty-three). But above all, the main use of golf carts on our campus is to shuttle injured or handicapped people to and from various locations on campus. You can get from one end of campus to the other in fifteen minutes with a good set of legs, but good luck otherwise. I always wanted to pretend that I was gravely injured so that someone would pick me up from my dorm or from my parking garage and drive me to my classes.
But here's where the confession part comes in: my dirty little secret. Every time -- every single time -- a golf cart passes me while I'm walking, I think to myself: "Hey, stop! Gimme a ride!" I am lazy. I am so lazy that the five minute walk to the burrito cart makes me want to shove something into my eyeball rather than have to pick up my feet, one after the other. Walking to class, running extremely late: "Hey, stop! Gimme a ride!" Walking to class, on time: "Hey, stop! Gimme a ride!" Walking to eat lunch: "Hey, stop! Gimme a ride!" Walking to my car, and the driver is dirty and stinky: "Hey, stop! Gimme a ride!" Several times I've had to hold my mouth physically shut to keep myself from saying it out loud.
But today, oh today I reached a new low. So low that I should probably just be put out of my misery.
I was walking to turn in my final grades -- my very last act of the semester before vacation -- plodding along diligently and torturously, thinking about how I just wanted to be in my bed with a box of tissues and season five of Stargate, when this dude in a wheelchair starts buzzing on by. Can you see where this is going? This guy would probably kill to be me, with healthy legs and an iron stomach and an implacable will to shop, and here's me, thinking, "HEY, STOP! CAN I HAVE A RIDE?" And then I was struck dead by God for daring to picture myself riding on this poor guy's lap, just chugging along on his battery powered electric wheelchair. I am the devil, I am scum, I am the mold that lives on the scum.
So, on behalf of all humanity: I'm sorry, I really am.