I write this sitting in the kitchen sink. It’s undignified as fuck-all, but there you go. If I were the kind of guy who had a crest, a coat-of-arms, a sigil (and there I go revealing the depths of my nerdery), the inscription would be Undignified.
Have you ever gone sledding on a lunch tray?
Seriously, you should. It’s a rush. You smuggle a tray out of the dining hall, toss it down at the top of the hill, and whoosh! you’re off. We were just going to get in a few runs after lunch before the physics lecture series opener. It was going to be a good one, a Serbian physicist and philosopher giving a talk about entropy. The Disappearing World. The lecture hall was at the bottom of the hill. It was a win-win.
Except that my roommate is crazy. We slide the trays out of our parkas and he pulls an aerosol can from his pocket. The kid has more weird shit in his pockets.
“Dude, my Mom uses that crap when she bakes cookies.”
He only grinned. Because what’s faster than plastic on hard-packed snow? Greased plastic on hard-packed snow.
So the minute my ass hits the tray, I’m off. Hurtling down a three-hundred foot hillside on snow that’s been hardening and compacting for three days—I swear to god my face is flapping like they do in cartoons, and I realize that they plowed the sidewalk that bisects the quad at the bottom of the hill.
I’m getting ready to bail, but some asshole (and let’s remember, it my lunch tray) has left something sticky on the tray and my jeans hang on. How often do you wear a belt for a lecture? Me neither.
Laundry day is tomorrow. I didn’t figure commando was going to be such a horrible exercise in poor judgement.
I hit a bump, my skinny legs can’t keep the pants on, and I skid, bare-assed over the cold, freshly plowed concrete.
I’m screaming like a little kid, my butt is chafed—I’m pretty sure I’m half-naked and bleeding in front of the advancing girl’s rugby team—and what does my animal of a roommate do?
He picks me up in a fireman’s carry and rushes me, mooning classmates and passing faculty alike, back to our apartment, where he dumps me unceremoniously in the kitchen sink.
Just before he hits the shutter button on his phone, he says to me, “Dude. I’ll get your laptop. You so have to blog this.”