Jesus, Take the Handle Bars

I'm done. First day of college is in the books, so to speak. From 8 a.m. to 5:15, a more-than-full day for me, something that will take time for me to get used to. I'm used to taking a nap with the daycare kids. 12 to 1:20. Right after lunch.

My Friday Fragments will be devoted to the minor things I observe/feel/think about this, week so I won't get into it here.

I will, however, share one funny thing. I have to. I can't keep it until Friday.

So, it's midday and I've been to my first class. History. Great first class, even if it was 8 a.m. and I'd not even started drinking my medium hazelnut extra extra coffee.

So I walk back to my van - parked in a spot that I just know is off limits to me, and therefore is under video surveillance that the campus police will use to post a video of me on YouTube punching the hood because the battery connection keeps coming loose and I have to pop the hood and frig with the connection.

But I digress...

Anyway, I replace three history books and a notebook with my single philosophy book and notebook (If Andrew takes three textbooks and a notebook weighing 27 pounds and replaces them with one textbook and notebook weighing 17 ounces, what would the chiropractor charge for an adjustment if he were walking 3 miles per hour heading west toward HELL....), and then head to the student center.

I come to an intersection and out of the corner of my eye I notice a student with blond Jesus hair and beard on a ten-speed barreling down the street toward me.

And to my left, a car has stopped to let me cross the intersection. At this exact moment, Jesus veers his bike to manage the intersection and his tires hit gravel right at my feet and he wipes out.

We're talking about a tall fuck, too. All arms and legs. Short-sleeved polo shirt and jeans hugging the upper crack of his Jesus ass, penny loafers. You just know this guy listens to Marley and believes using deodorant depletes the ozone or some such pot-enhanced euphoric nonsense.

And his bike is slipping out from under him, he's rotating in mid air at my feet, and our eyes lock for a moment (mine wide as dinner plates, his narrowed into Cheech and Chong slits.)

And BAM! he hits the ground and slides a foot or two past me.

I didn't know what to do or say. I was flabbergasted. I was shocked. I was ... trying not to laugh. I was doing man keegles to stop from pissing myself.


"Uh...you okay?" I asked, and reached down. But, in one fluid motion, as if choreographed, he popped up onto his bike and began pedaling down the hill.

"Dude, that sucked."

That's all he said. And it was with comical irony that he said it. No inflection. No nervous giggle or snorting, which I would have done. Well, no, I would have thrown the fucking bike across the road and launched into something naughty. Something non-academic.

"Dude, that sucked."

That's got to be the understatement of the year. And off Jesus fled, in 5th gear and with road rash and by the time I got to the other side of the intersection I was bursting.

Made. My. Day.