Eating It
Alright, so I've had my fair share of embarrassing moments. And by fair share I mean lion's share. It's gotten to the point, in fact, where I almost no longer register embarrassment. I have, however, become increasingly aware of the behavior of other people in response to my moments.
Last week, I dropped my tray. Actually, it's the only thing I didn't drop. My milk glass tipped over and poured all over the tray. As I attempted to put the milky tray in the tray rack and get another, I spilled milk all over the floor. And as I balanced the tray with one hand, my soda propelled itself off the tray, flipped through the air, and bounced on the floor, spraying Sprite all over the ground. I stared at the growing lake of Sprite and milk with a sigh.
And then someone started clapping. Which brings me to my first point: clappers are douchebags. I took a bow, but I was annoyed. Okay, someone just ate it, made a huge mess the staff has to clean up, and is horribly embarrassed about seeming clumsy. What would possess a person to do the one thing that could make it worse: show that you were both watching and amused?
I remember that a moment like that brought out the middle shool girl worst in me. I dropped a tray and I girl whom I hated sidled up to me and sneered, "What's it feel like to drop your tray? I've never done it."
"Probably what it feels like to be you every day," I responded. And I walked off.
I was horrified at myself, but I am unapologetic now. I say this simply because she was the talking equivalent of a clapper, and we've already established that clappers are douchebags.
And today, I kissed the pavement. I was on the path to the dining hall when I went down. I didn't step high enough with my flip flop and I went for a full-frontal body slam. I stood up with as much grace as I could muster and kept walking. When you trip you can at least pretend that you were about to start jogging, and no one's going to come up to you and say, "I know what just happened, and I'm not fooled." Eating it like that leaves no ambiguity. The group of guys passing me had the good manners to at least wait until I was past before they laughed.
So here is the message of the day: don't be a douchebag (I'm sorry, it's my new favorite word). Or, to go for the more kindergarten version: don't go out of your way to make other feel bad. I know it's just because you have a small penis. If I had the time to put up the graph, you would see that there is a linear relationship between penis size and likelihood of clapping.
Last week, I dropped my tray. Actually, it's the only thing I didn't drop. My milk glass tipped over and poured all over the tray. As I attempted to put the milky tray in the tray rack and get another, I spilled milk all over the floor. And as I balanced the tray with one hand, my soda propelled itself off the tray, flipped through the air, and bounced on the floor, spraying Sprite all over the ground. I stared at the growing lake of Sprite and milk with a sigh.
And then someone started clapping. Which brings me to my first point: clappers are douchebags. I took a bow, but I was annoyed. Okay, someone just ate it, made a huge mess the staff has to clean up, and is horribly embarrassed about seeming clumsy. What would possess a person to do the one thing that could make it worse: show that you were both watching and amused?
I remember that a moment like that brought out the middle shool girl worst in me. I dropped a tray and I girl whom I hated sidled up to me and sneered, "What's it feel like to drop your tray? I've never done it."
"Probably what it feels like to be you every day," I responded. And I walked off.
I was horrified at myself, but I am unapologetic now. I say this simply because she was the talking equivalent of a clapper, and we've already established that clappers are douchebags.
And today, I kissed the pavement. I was on the path to the dining hall when I went down. I didn't step high enough with my flip flop and I went for a full-frontal body slam. I stood up with as much grace as I could muster and kept walking. When you trip you can at least pretend that you were about to start jogging, and no one's going to come up to you and say, "I know what just happened, and I'm not fooled." Eating it like that leaves no ambiguity. The group of guys passing me had the good manners to at least wait until I was past before they laughed.
So here is the message of the day: don't be a douchebag (I'm sorry, it's my new favorite word). Or, to go for the more kindergarten version: don't go out of your way to make other feel bad. I know it's just because you have a small penis. If I had the time to put up the graph, you would see that there is a linear relationship between penis size and likelihood of clapping.
posted by Meredith at 11:35 PM
2 Comments:
Because Edinburgh is such an old city the cobblestones on the sidewalks are uneven and quietly malicious. They've had time to develop personalities and all of them hate people. Especially students. Especially students who are used to walking on nice, flat sidewalks that don't actively try to trip you up. I've not yet fallen on my face (though the time is soon approaching, I can tell) but I've nearly done so about 15 times since I got here.
So is the probability of a woman clapping 100%?
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