I realize that there are some very important issues I could use this bi-weekly space to discuss. I could write about the rejuvenation of the "effortless perfection" issue around campus (getting kind of old). I could offer my views on gay marriage, currently a big issue in the White House and around the country (what does Bush care about gays marrying when he has Laura, that vixen). But maybe more serious topics should be left to more serious people who actually have some idea what they're talking about. And no one reads those articles anyway.
So: it's 10:30 on a Friday morning. You're hung over. You're wearing the same underwear you wore last night. You woke up 20 minutes ago, thought it was Saturday, went back to sleep, and then realized, 3 minutes ago, that not only is it Friday but if you miss another French class Madame L'IownYourAss is going to fail you. You smell like the bathroom at Bully's and look like you must have spent the night there. You nearly did. Or anyway, that's what they told you. Even worse, you realize-- after you accidentally put your jeans on backwards when you got up-- that you're still drunk. And now you have to take the bus to East.
East-West buses in this state are not fun. In fact they are awful. If you can somehow maneuver your way to the front of the line and get a seat, you run the risk that Robbie from your freshman year seminar, to whom you may or may not have confided your undying love for the X-Files and Fox Mulder last night at the bar, will sit next to you and start in with those sideways, Wow-are-you-a-mess glances. You also stand a chance that the only seat left on the bus will be next to the weird girl in your linguistics class with two tongue rings who, you're almost positive, has a crush on you, and if you don't sit next to her you're going to look like a big jerk.
You look like even more of a jerk if you don't at least say hi to these people, but this begins an awkward, terrible cycle of awkward, terrible conversation that neither one of you has the power to stop. You say hi. Crazy Tongue Ring girl says hi, what's up. You say nothing, just going to class. Robbie (who you definitely saw at Shooters last night, you're having flashbacks left and right of him trying to dance with you and you feigning sickness) asks what class you're going to. French, you say, or history or calculus or whatever it is. You can't concentrate because you realize you forgot a pen and now you're going to have to ask someone in class for one, which means that at least two more strained interchanges are going to have to take place this morning, one when you ask to borrow the pen and one when you return it. What history class are you in? asks Crazy Tongue Ring Girl, even though none of you really care at all, and by now you're pretty sure this is the all-time worst day of your life.
Overheard bus conversations have the potential to be even more annoying. For some reason, the nerdiest conversations are always the loudest, longest, most involved, and taking place right next to you. They always include elements from the following topics: tenting, organic chemistry class, upcoming test dates, a recounting of what took place at the last 'SAFLA--Students Against Fragrant Lemur Abuse' meeting, or are spoken in another language.
Another hot topic for nerdy people to shout to one another across a crowded bus at 10 o'clock in the morning is how crazy drunk they were last night, something along the lines of, Man, I drank like 3 beers in 30 minutes which is totally 76 percent faster than you're supposed to, man! And since I have that liver condition, you know, I was like so wasted! It was awesome!
Why is it that people think it's okay to talk about very private, secret thing on buses full of nosy columnists like myself? To the blonde girl whose boyfriend, last week, told her she would be more attractive if she got with her roommate from time to time: I can hear you. To the kid talking on the phone to his mother about getting more urinary-tract infection medication sent down to Duke: that is gross. And to the kid speaking another language to avoid my overhearing your conversation: I appreciate the gesture, but don't make those motions with your hands. I figured it out, and that is just disgusting.
At the start of freshman year, I remember I used to think riding the bus back and forth was a great way to make friends. You could just sit down next to someone and start talking, and if they sucked, well, you'd be off the bus in 5 minutes.
Now, riding the bus has become one of my least favorite college experiences, right up there with Calculus 41 (made me cry) and having to use the Delta Sig section bathrooms on Saturday mornings (gross).
Let's not make this experience any worse than it is, people. If it is before 11 a.m., speak quietly. If you're about to tell your friend about this really weird smell that all of the sudden filled the room last night and how you finally realized what it was... don't speak at all. And if you got drunk (wasted, man! Yeah!), assume no one else cares. I think we can all have a more pleasurable bus riding experience that way. Or anyway I will.
Have a great Friday.
Denise Napoli is a Trinity sophomore. Her column appears every other Friday.
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