30 October, 2008

Time To Buy A Satellite



I re-awoke to the bzzzz of my cell phone. If the phone is on silent, this could mean anything; text, email, calendar alarm, etc. But I knew my phone wasn't on silent today, so that bzzzz had to be an email as everything else has an audible noise.
As a gluttonous slut for email, internet and technology, I couldn't fight the urge to check it. It was school, and it was important: Dear Students, don' t be late for class today as we will be...bla, bla, bla. I don't usually get through his emails. I don't much care for him as a professor or as a person, so my way of getting back at him is not finishing his emails.
Thankfully, today I had my 9:30am class canceled, so I could sleep in all I wanted. So I did. And I thoroughly enjoyed it. Waking around 10:00, I figured I'd have time for a burned three-egg omelet with old, pre-grated cheese and a couple slices of whole grain toast before my class at 12:30. So I got to cooking and before long, I was watching some show on MTV about how hard it is to find true love on the Jersey Shore. Seriously? Am I really watching this? Yes, I was. And as I put fork to mouth, toast to mouth, fork to mouth, I realized I had been enjoying it too much and might now need to hurry.
Walking into the bedroom during a much needed commercial break, I put on the same pants I'd been wearing for that week, conveniently pre-filled with chapstick, house keys and motorcycle keys in the right pocket, a void for for my cell phone in the left, a leather notebook in the left butt pocket and a ridiculously over stuffed wallet seriously lacking cash in the back right. The other blessing of this environmentally friendly approach to dressing is that the belt is still in the loops and a puff of unsavory air wooshes up as I pull them up and strap them on.
I'm ready.
Now all I have to do is pick out a shirt that I haven't worn in at least 2-3 days, find a pair of socks that don't fall down into my shoes when I walk and pick from the ugly and styless selection of shoes piled at the bottom of my cascading tie collection. Leather, plaid or athletic is the choice for today. I've been wearing my blue hemp and natural leather loafers way too much lately and the odor is ghastly. In cahoots with the smell of death permeating from my pants and I just might get sent home from work today. So loafers it definitely is not.
Now to watches. You'd think with 20 or so watches you'd have an easy time picking something good, but lately I've been relegating myself to my Soviet Union series of watches; time pieces I picked up while living in Ukraine. A morning wind up puts the hands in motion for two days easy. But if I choose one of the self winding ones, I never even have to think about it...usually.
I headed back to Jersey Shore which was playing in full technicolor in the living room. I again got absorbed in the pain of some drunk, sweaty guy, covered in what appeared to be muscles. Not sure, but he appeared to be drinking away his pain. He must have been hurt pretty bad because he was majorly sloshed.
Time check and panic.
What? How did time fly that fast? All I know is it's 12:15 and I've screwed the pooch watching the Jersey Shore Boy break his sweaty little heart.
I'm off. Motorcycle doesn't even get a chance to warm up before I blow out of the garage, down the driveway and out onto the interstate. Time is the enemy so I hunker down behind my gigantic 1981 windscreen, hoping to set Phelps-like records on my way to school.
Arriving, I shed fleece one, coat one and and scarf one. Sometimes, when it's cold, the apparel comes in two's to minimize the frost bite on my nipples, nose and ears.
The dash begins. Sweat has already formed on my back from the sheer notion of needing to hurry. The prospect of being late makes me perspire. But that's all before I even have to start incline speed walking. Not so shockingly, the speed walking really does me in and by the top of the hill, at the bottom of the short flight of stairs to the finish, I'm damp. Forehead, back and chest are marshlands. When my chest gets sweaty my chest hair feels like a wet scouring pad. Like something you might have just pulled out of the kitchen sink. Without proper ventilation, it's like throwing a giant tarpaulin over the rain forest; it gets rather humid under there. But the humidity doesn't get a chance to stay in the foliage, or dance around in the tree tops for long. No, it falls, runs and pools in the little valleys under my man boobs. There, it churns like dirty water in a clam, lingering without the pearl's reward. I shudder to think how I might be perceived in a grey, clingy t-shirt. Would people think my nipples were frowning? Or would it look as if my belly had silly little eyebrows? But like I said, I shudder to think.
But I summit the 16 step flight in 16, short, breathless bounds, skipping no step for fear of a groin injury. But I'm here and now I face only a 2 minute dash to the door of my classroom.
For joy! But as I glance at my watch, it reveals I am ten minutes late. Bollocks. I should have turned off the Jersey Shore Boy when I had the chance. Now I was done. Finished. Worse yet, as I looked more closely at my watch, IT WAS AN HOUR OFF! My trusty Soviet time piece had deceived me, indicating that it was only in fact 11:40 when I knew darmned well it was 12:40. I knew it, I just knew it. This always happens to me. I'm late. I hit every red light. I'm damp. And if that wasn't bad enough, my watch has gone and missed a whole hour of the day!
My mind raced. What excuses could I make to my professor as I glided in the classroom on a cloud of sweaty fog, tapping my watch like a perplexed tourist.
"Wouldn't you know, my watch is off," I tested aloud.
"I sincerely apologize. My watch was off by an hour and I didn't realize it's inaccuracy in time," I whispered, going for a more humble approach.
But time ran out, my chunky legs had brought me to the threshold of my classroom with a class I didn't recognize...er, what?
"I don't recognize anyone in this class. And that's not even my professor," I wondered to myself.
My hand gently backed off the door knob, thoughts of confusion replacing myriad excuses as I gingerly and naturally backed away from the windowed door.
I determined that we had decided to meet in a different room, or possibly a different building all together. I'm never really paying attention to what's being said in class. Sometimes it bites back, but usually not. This time, it looks like I'd been bitten hard.
Then the though crested the foggy out-reaches of my oxygen-starved brain that maybe I was wrong. Maybe the Bolsheviks had it right and my Tolstoy tendered time piece was ticking in exact precision. We'll, I turned it over to the gods, whipping out my cell phone and getting the trustier time of the $50 million dollar satellite that little phone called mother.
11:45 it smiled back.
I say smiled because I could see my smugly disgusted smile in the greasy reflection of my phone's screen. It was 11:45 alright. 5 minutes from when the exuses started flowing and a full 45 from when I would have needed to use them. I was defeated.
Lincoln was shot in a theatre during a performance of Our American Cousin. He was in company with the great General Grant.
I though, was alone. In an empty hallway I stood, staring at a greasy cell phone screen that had long since gone dark. General Grant was not by my side and I was in no grand theatre. Like Lincoln, I was defeated. But self defeated. Defeated by my own worst enemy: myself. My stupidity had put me somewhere 45 minutes early. My stupidity was to thank for me not finding out if Jersey Boy ever found love. My stupidity was making my nipples frown, and now my face was frowning too.
And for that, I'll never trust a watch again.

10 comments:

jen said...

I can't believe I really just read that whole thing. I thought this post was ACTUALLY going to be about buying a satellite and I was already preparing a nasty, racist, Springville-ghetto remark for you. Thanks for crushing my dreams.

Jeremy and Sara said...

Well, it could be about buying a satellite TV so he could DVR his much-hated/beloved MTV shows. I haven't seen the Jersey Shore show, but The Hills is fantastically awful (especially Audrina, who doesn't know the word "well"). And The Cut has a great recap of it every week. So, I understand the "sucking you in" power that MTV has.

*Kelly* said...

I as well am finding it hard to believe that I just read that whole post...but it was a fun trip so thanks for that! I love that you can take an ordinary experience that we all have (well, except for the frowning boobs, thats all you) and turn it into a facinating read! Your great Logan and I love to see where your mind takes you!
Kelly fo felly
P.S. The Hills is a hot mess and I love to watch!

Logan said...

Wow, three people read the whole thing! Thanks guys. I'm shocked and flattered.

Lauren said...

Logan, I too read the whole thing. But I knew then end by the beginning. At least your phone is good to you, mine seems to keep thinking its daylight savings and changes the hours.

Leslierush said...

Logan, your creativness and humor never fail to entertain me.

The Barker's said...

I have to admit I read it all too. I come to your blog on occasion to see how funny you are. and guess what? you are. I think that instead of inspecting plastic forks for a living you should try your luck at journalism.... just a thought... of course when you graduate & IF you can get to class!

tiffandchrishebb said...

logan do you think I really have time to read all that....it is way too long....but I am sure you let out some true feelings of anger, or hate for someone or something...ha love ya anyway. it looks like you have a lot of other supporters.

Brownie said...

Hahahahaha, awesome. That story made my day man. So many memories.

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