Friday, February 22, 2008

• These Novelty Beverages Are Just Empty Calories.

  My day was normal until about 2:18, when everything decided it was high time to go awry.  At that point, it had just dawned on me that I was supposed to be in my father's car and driving away from the school eight minutes ago.  I don't think my physics teacher even noticed as I blew right past him and into the hall towards the main lobby, clamoring down the hall, desperately trying to beat the throng of people that would soon fill the hallways from wall to wall.  And as busted through the front doors into the parking lot, the bell sounded and I kept running until I was panting and well into the passenger seat of the silver Maxima.  With not a moment to spare, my father beat the buses onto the main drag towards my dermatologist.
  
  "Envision all the lights being green, Zak,” He tells me on the ride over, "I'll mentally create a parking spot for us."  Ironically, we arrived early and got a parking spot in a speedy manner, thusly avoiding the need to park over at the gulf across the street.  The street with four lanes that empties out into the turnpike.  My dermatologist takes residence on the third floor and used to treat my face for ugliness and currently treats my feet for anomalies; anomalies that he decided to just chop off in the office today.  This was not a fun experience at all, an old man, actually the self-proclaimed "king of puns" who lacks any bedside matter at all hacking away at my numbed foot.  And then, the comment of the appointment: "It appears your foot is bleeding!"  As if removing crap from my foot wouldn't make it bleed; that's like taking candy from a baby and just not expecting it to burst into tears.  So the nice man hands a tiny Band-Aid and charges my insurance company for the procedure.
  
  From there, we reached the Starbucks on the second floor, where the people in front of my father and me in line discussed the merits of a frappichino.  "I mean, obviously" the man on the left retorts, "the frappichino isn't really a cup of coffee, only a Wawa actually has real coffee.  Coffee that wakes you up in the morning.  Starbuck's fraps are just, well, novelty drinks."  Obviously, of course.  This being said, I am officially not the most befuddled person in the universe.
  
  A half an hour later brings me to theatre, where, in my absence, the men and women of the cast have lost their ability to touch and or partake in any physical contact with the opposite gender.  Naturally I'm unaware of this legislation until after kissing my girlfriend and receiving a number of hollow stairs.  Everything is taboo until I approach Baby John about the subject.
  
  There's this couch.
  
  
  
  It's used constantly by the cast as a place to flirt, do homework, sleep (as shown), rest, sit, and make sexual innuendos.  But today someone went too far.  Enter the younger sister of one of good friends and a kid us seniors have nicknamed, "The Creeper."  He was named for how he acted at auditions, where, when told to walk across the stage and instantly fall in love, this performance brought about the comment from the director, "My god, he looks like he's going to rape her!"  So Sarah (the sister) and Creeper are dating, as of yesterday.  This is odd because Sarah doesn't date at all and the Creeper is a potential sex offender, but no one said anything, because we're good people.
  
  So today, he lived up to his title.  Rosemary walks backstage to do something before rehearsal and walks in not on a make out session but on him fingering her up, right on the plaid couch.  And everything plays out from there.  She gives them a lecture and then moves to lecture the whole cast and impose restrictions because of the behavior of the minority.  You can only now imagine my surprise at 4:30 when I returned.
  
  But there's been one other thing that bothered me today.  A number of my cohorts are developing this sense of egomania.  Which is really starting to play on my nerves.  For example, Joe, the lead, is dating a freshman named Laura (which is another story altogether).  And Joe sings the part of Tony, an exceptionally difficult part, regardless of who you are.  So he's onstage blowing out his vocal chords, and I say to her, "Your boyfriend's got one hell of a voice."  And her response is not "yeah" or "I know!" or "thank you," it's "of course he does.  That's why he's the fucking lead."  Ouch.
  
  She was in a generally bad mood the entire day.  Self-righteous, anxietised, and just an angry girl save for when her precious trophy boy was around.  I began to count the number of times she would drop the f-bomb without good reason; she got up to eighteen times by when I left for work.  Even Brittany said something to me about it, which is bad because she's a pacifist by nature.  Also, the boy who ordered pizza for the cast overcharged people like a stereotypical Jewish guy.  Three bucks for a soda and two per slice of pizza?  With the excess being used for "gas money?"  The pizza place is exactly one mile away from the school and usually there's a good ten dollars leftover anyway.  We ended up robbing him of everything once he left the room, which was partly my idea.  "What goes around, comes around" was the general battle cry.  It felt good to do things in the name of divine justice.
  
  Tomorrow I'm going to pack a bottle of hot sauce and order the food myself.

  • 12:26 AM
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