The sweat that streamed down the side of my face, forming a puddle on the bathroom floor beneath me, was partly due to the humidity of that sticky April evening and partly due my intense concentration. The tension from my clenching jaw made my teeth grind together fiercely, and my hands were compressed so tightly that they became bright red and my knuckles hurt.
In order to maintain my balance, I spread my legs and bent my knees into a shoulder's-width wrestling stance (at the risk of performing an inadvertent split if the friction between my socks and the floor tiles was overcome). Common sense told me to give up, but my stubborn willfulness made me keep going. This struggle was about more than just the events of one night. It was the culmination of a year's worth of letdowns.
Not getting the paralegal job at Crewson, Lee & Chung LLP and being forced to bus tables at the Dusty Armadillo for the seventh summer in a row was merely the tip of the iceberg. What about the constant torment I get from knowing that my arch nemesis, Rami Mikati, still holds Miss Foster's third grade class record for flashcards? How about the fact that I've gained more pounds this year than I've earned points on my last three math tests combined? What about the flood of hate mail that fills my inbox every other Tuesday and usually reads something to the effect of "go to hell chlamydia boy, everyone hates you"?
And, while there seemed to be a brief glimmer of hope for me this year when, for the first time in my life, I began seeing a nice girl from across the quad, it only lasted for about two weeks until she realized what was going on and started shutting her blinds.
Yes, it's been a miserable year, and I refused to let myself be conquered by yet another facet of life.
As I stared at the twisted tube of Colgate Advanced Care that was caught in my lifeless grip, my eyes caught a sight of hope-a small blue glop trying to emerge from the top. I anxiously intensified my squeeze, but the coy morsel of toothpaste quickly retreated. My hold gradually began to ease as I came to terms with defeat.
Just like my battle with Jimmy Schlesinger in the legendary swamps of Muskrat Hill, I had gotten so close, but yet remained so far.
I should have been crestfallen. I should have felt conquered by yet another adversary. However, as my eyes remained fixed on the appalling tube, I began to put things into perspective. If I had the luxury of being overly concerned with toothpaste, my life could not be that miserable. This enlightenment came as a huge shock to me and quickly changed my grim expression of scorn to a smile.
Even though I officially lost to the tube of toothpaste that day, I still walked out of the bathroom with a little spring in my step. I think that I'll continue to look back at that night's struggle whenever I start feeling bogged down by the toothpaste of life.
Nick Alexander is a Pratt sophomore. His column runs every other Tuesday.
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