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April 15, 2008

Overheard in Chattanooga

One of my on-campus jobs involves great quantities of scanning books, mostly books about ancient Hebrews who did this or that. To get this accomplished, I have to go to a building that houses, amongst other things, the interior design department, as they have the best scanners.

As I was coming up the stairs with my giant bag of books-about-Hebrews this morning, I encountered two girls coming down. One was laden with a bag almost the size of my own duffle-like bag, although hers was decorated with a chicken pox of Chanel logos. The two girls were discussing the impending return to their parents houses after finals, while tossing their overly-highlighted hair.

Girl With Highlights: So, like, they were telling me how it's only 90 degrees there, BUT, it feels like, like 100!

Chanel Girl: Oh I know! Like, my parents live in Nashville and the weather has been really great there too, and, like, they said MY POOL IS READY!!!

Both Girls: [Mutual squeeling about the readiness of this pool.]

I feel strangely transported to a movie version of my life, where all stereotypes are joyfully fulfilled. What next, am I going to go to the Philosophy department and find packs of hipsters bemoaning how they have no direction in life and believe in nothing? Will I go to the Art department and find everyone cheerfully downing Absinthe and using erotic body paint on one another as some form of performance art/pushing the boundaries of the Avant Gard?

I'm guessing not in Chattanooga.

Posted by Spike at 10:20 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack

April 06, 2008

Not In Utah!

I got back from a lovely weekend in Ogden, Utah around 3 in the morning last night. The mountains were gorgeous (and should be appearing in a Wordless Wednesday this week) and all the people were amazingly nice. When I first arrived, I made friends right away on the shuttle between the Salt Lake airport and Weber State. Then one of the conference facilitators offered to drive me into town when I asked him what the easiest way to check out Ogden proper would be. On Friday night I decided to take myself out for a nice dinner, to celebrate the conference paper I delivered going swimmingly. I ran across Tona sushi restaurant while exploring the touristy drag on 25th street, and couldn't resist the tuna-stuffed jalapenos they were advertising. I am a pretty independent gal, as evidenced by my adventures across England and the United States free of entourage, and had no problem enjoying a nice dinner by myself. But some sweet Ogden natives at the table next to me decided I must be lonely, and took it upon themselves to show a girl from Tennessee a good time. They bought me a glass of wine, and eventually my whole dinner, and invited me to sit with them. We spent the evening laughing and drinking sake and having a fabulous time before they drove me back to Weber State. I'm sad I'll probably never see them again, as they were honestly some of the nicest people I've met in my entire life.

You can imagine my shock then, coming off this weekend of pleasantries and kindness when I got into an altercation with a man in the boarding line at the Chicago airport. He and his wife were very insistent that they physically claim their spot six numbers ahead of me in the 20-30 section of the B boarding line. After six hours trying to get home from Salt Lake, the couple being so snooty about something so trivial compelled me to roll my eyes, leading the husband in this couple to repeatedly ask me "can you read? can you even count?" Apparently my inability to telepathically know what number boarding pass everyone else in the terminal has makes me a cross-eyed illiterate. I personally feel the inspired string of profanities that spilled from my lips in response to his condescending, unnecessarily rude sexist badgering proved my technical skills with our native tongue. Having heard this demonstration of my verbal proficiency, he then proceeded to pull out the incredibly sexist "daddy" card, attempting to shame me by inquiring what my "daddy" would think of all this and if my "daddy" knew what kind of daughter he has. As it turns out, my "daddy" taught me not to take shit from jerks and to stand up for myself, so that line of shame completely failed. He also failed at the whole verbal combat thing when he cancelled out his chosen line of insults about my ability to read and my intelligence when I dropped my choicest profanity and he responded "Pardon me, what did you say?" feigning to either not have heard me or not to have understood.

Fortunately, Southern hospitality won the day when a nice girl from Alabama stood up for me against the wanton asshole. She comforted me and told him to "act his age." I'm very grateful to her for sticking up for me. Also saving the evening from despair, after I got seated on this flight (far behind in line from the anxious couple) I happened to unknowingly sit next to one Jeff Clark, of political consulting and Obama-senatorial-campaign organizing fame. I had no idea who he was, but noticed he was reading a book about Obama, and leaned over to inquire if he was an Obama fan. He replied that he knew Obama and had worked with him. Ironically, after the over-defensive husband had gone to such great lengths to prove my unintelligence, Dr. Clark and I got into a fabulous conversation about Charles Dickens, grad school, and other intelligent matters.

It's a crazy world out there, and it's a lot crazier when you are traveling by yourself.

Posted by Spike at 06:29 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack