Lately, I've been noticing something. Simply, for most people, a walk across campus is just that: mild aerobic excercise that brings you from point A to point B through the scenic, and might I add, rather enormous, campus. For me, it's a game.
*glittery lights, sound of gathered audience clapping*
Today, brought to you straight from a soundstage in Burbank, California:
How Many People Will Approach Me Today for Something?
Yes. Today, two perfect strangers walked up to me and asked me for something. One, while walking towards the Union for some grub, a woman and her friend came up to me and asked if I knew how to get to Kirkwood. I told them how ridiculously close they were and sent them on their merry way. Then, about ten minutes ago, while sitting here wondering what I was going to do about my scaly knuckles (dry heat in my home, man), a lovely blonde woman came up to me and put her perfumed hand on my shoulder. Pursing her lips, she leaned down and whispered:
"Do you have a scientific calculator?"
I didn't. She tapped back to her computer sans device and no doubt is wondering just what kind of man I am to not be always carrying a tiny computer capable of doing math that I will never, ever be able to do in real life. Such is the scourge of being a Turkish Studies major. If she had asked how to say "Your mom's a sea cow" in Turkish, I would have been all on it.
Senin annen deniz ineğidir. Just in case you were wondering.
So, it begs the question: what about me makes two, three people a day comfortable enough to approach me for help? Now, I am not one of those guys who would rather project a badass image to the world; sure, I have tattoos and sure, I have killed a man before, but I've done my time and it's all in the past. In my anger management class, which the nice white-clothed people made me take, I learned that people perceive you as you perceive yourself.
Apparently I perceive myself to be rich, possessed of cigarettes and lighters and watch, and knowledgeable about this area and environs. Oh, I have none of those things, believe me.
Is it my look? Maybe if I get that eyebrow piercing I have always dreamed of and start wearing that fun trenchcoat I put in the closet after Columbine and begin to wear my headset and talk to myself in public, this will end.
In a way, I'm weirded right the hell out. This doesn't happen to most people. But I am also rather flattered. People don't think I am packing heat, and that's fun.
Well, I am off to French, which tonight should consist of me attempting to open my wrist veins with a pen and my own teeth. It could be worse. I could be out there, somewhere, in desperate need of a scientific calculator.
Good night, Indiana.
Dom
3 comments:
I think it's the "I want to help you" demeanor you've adopted as a skilled Front Desker. People sense it. Ah, skilled front desking. I speak of it as if it is a trade. It is though, really. We should have our own guild. Phi Delta Gamma. Stands for Front Desk Gangstas.
I just did a web search for Phi Delta Gamma out of curiosity. How mundane - it's an organization committed to excellence in graduate education. Damn. I was hoping for a fun social sorority for lesbian Latinas or something random like that. Ah well.
Stream of consciousness over. Back to the books!
Broooooooooke
All Front deskers are "Excellent at multitasking" or "Experienced at front desking". There are plenty of alumni that would be happy to return for homecoming and buy you guys a keg.
By the way, how do you become a "team member" for your Blog?
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