Friday, October 10, 2003

So on Fridays I have breakfast with Derek, go to class for four hours straight, come back to my room, drop off my shit, and then take a jaunty little walk to the dining comons for lunch so I can get there before it closes at 2:30. (My last class gets out at 2.) I eat at a small table on Friday afternoons, just big enough for two people, or for me and a very large book, and read while I'm eating.

Today, I opted not to read. I decided that I was going to have a small meal and then go about my merry way (which today involved buying a very ornate boquet of flowers for Greg, who graciously offered to drive me to the bus station at 6 am tomorrow morning because I SEVERELY FUCKED UP!!!!). About halfway through my slice of pizza, I notice these two runners (evident by the running shoes and shorts) occasionally glancing over at my table. I'm thinking: (a) "Was I mean/aloof/bitchy to them in high school?" (b) "Do I know them from high school?" (c) "Why am I the subject of their conversation? Am I the subject of their conversation?" (d) "Oh, fuck, what do I have on my face?"

Some minutes after all of these thoughts (I am now eating a sandwhich), one of them comes over to me and asks, "Hey, do you want to come sit with us? So you don't have to eat alone? Not that there's anything wrong with eating alone, we just thought you might like to sit with someone." Holy fecal matter. Do I look this depressed? I'm not depressed. I just really like black. Damn you, runner girl, for judging me on my clothing alone!!! Damn you to hell!!!

"Uhhhhh . . . . that's okay. Thanks though. I'm cool." Sandwhich bite. Chew.

"Ok. Well, um, I'm Maria, by the way."

"Stevi." Sandwhich bite. Chew.

"Nice meeting you!" I wave a little gesture that's supposed to say, "You too!!!!" and she scampers off. I am not looked at again for the rest of my meal.

Now, about that severe fuck-up. I'm going to see Marcus in LA this weekend, and I bought an early morning bus ticket for Saturday . . . not realizing that the MTD to get to the Greyhound doesn't run as early as I need it to run in order to get there. Jen suggests I go ask one of the Engineers over at Derek's place if maybe, just maybe, one of them could drive me to the bus station . . . since they have cars and all. In explaining my plight to Derek, he suggests (after a lot of miscommunication) that I should sidle up to anyone in the room with a car and flirt my way into it. I decide to try my chances with Greg, and he agrees, with very little sideling involved on my part and a whole lot of begging. I have a ride! Yay! So, in some sort of feeble gratitude for this HUGE gesture, I scamper down to the UCen after lunch to buy him a boquet of flowers.

I return from this endeavor to a room full of stunned Engineers (and one Derek), with a big boquet of asiatic lillies, irises, and one fucking cool South African flower thing that looks very, very pre-historic.

I am now their goddess.

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