I knew things were turning around for me when I miraculously found my wallet (things weren't looking so good when I lost it... along with the keys to my dorm and my school ID), or more accurately, Katie The First-Year found it. That's right! A first-year actually did something right! Finally they're starting to make my life easier instead of harder. However, they still haven't mastered the complicated Entrance-Door/Exit-Door layout of the dining hall.
So I was at the mail room (AKA a quarter mile from my dorm) picking up no less than 7 packages (all of which, you may recall, were books I had ordered for a class that I have since dropped), and it was a struggle to situate myself and my 7 packages. In the process I may have carelessly stuffed my iPod and my wallet in my pocket. One of these was still there when I reached my dorm. (Hint: It was the one that was not plugged into my headphones, alerting me to its presence.) Without my wallet I have no money, no debit card, no school ID (which I swipe for the dining hall), and no keys to my dorm. So there I was, carrying 7 packages and unable to get into my room. Did I mention it was hot? (Toting 7 packages around doesn't do wonders for your sweat glands. I'm just saying.) I immediately retraced my steps back to the mail room, but my wallet was nowhere to be found. WOMP WOMP.
Thank God one of my suite mates was around to open the door for me when I knocked on our door, or I surely would have passed out from heat exhaustion. I was really hoping someone had e-mailed me telling me that they'd found my wallet, but no such luck.
An hour and a call to Wachovia (to put a hold on my debit card) later, I was ecstatic to receive an e-mail from Katie The First-Year telling me that she had found my wallet. MIRACLE! I raced over to her dorm to pick it up, but I ran into Raymond. I don't think I can explain Raymond to anyone who doesn't know him. He went to my high school, was the class president of the grade below me, and was in my Calculus class. He's like a mix between Erkel and SpongeBob SquarePants. He lives in my dorm now, so I inevitably run into him at the strangest times. At this moment, he had just received 'Flight of the Conchords' season 2 from Amazon, and I was en route to retrieve my wallet. When I told him this, he bubbiliciously responded, "You lost your wallet? That's a first-year mistake!" Thanks, Raymond. He has a point, though. I guess since I never lost my ID during freshman year the Universe is just now catching up. But it's all good because I got my wallet back in time to eat dinner! And so far as I know, Katie The First-Year hasn't been using my debit card number to purchase sharks with lasers on their heads or whatever expenditures first-years make with unlimited funds.
On a less exciting, actually extremely disappointing note, my SWAG (Studies in Women and Gender, remember people? Keep up) T.A. revealed to us in class today that she hasn't read Harry Potter. *GASP!* We were doing an activity in which we were supposed to name examples of "Ideal Men" as seen by society, and a group named Albus Dumbledore. She said, "I don't even think I can spell that..." Awkward (shocked) silence. She opted for "Dumbledohr." Awkwarder (appalled) silence. And she didn't even register the appropriate amount of shame at her lack of Harry Potter knowledge. I mean, really. What kind of university is this where our T.A.s haven't even read Harry Potter? Speaking of disappointing staff members at this school...
The reason I haven't written in quite some time is that I've spent the majority of the last week in the library media center catching up on the movies I missed for my Latin American Film class. I'm pretty sure Profesora still hates me, but I'm trying to confuse her by sitting in different seats every day in the hopes that she'll forget who I am. If this doesn't work, I'll have to go to my fallback plan: Jedi mind trick her. (Plan C is get one of those Flashy Thingies from 'Men In Black.') Apparently the goal of my Latin American Film prof is to make us cry as much as possible. (This wouldn't be a problem if we weren't forced to watch the films in the library media center surrounded by strangers.) It started off alright with a nice Gael García Bernal movie (he's pretty), but then it was all, "Here, watch this film about a cute little boy whose grandmother dies... Still not bawling? Check out this one about an adorable old couple- PSYCH! The husband dies. What's that? You need a tissue? Sorry, we're all out. But you can ask one of the people sitting in the cubicles next you giving you funny looks."
Try as she might to crush the light in soul, I will continue to thwart her efforts and the attempts of this school to dishearten me. Remember this: Don't stop believing. Hold on to that feeling.
Now if only I knew a city boy, born and raised in South Detroit. We could take the midnight train going anywhere.