I decided to write a short anecdote. When I came to that decision some 15 minutes ago, I joked to my dearest that I had used up my daily God-imposed quota of profundity with the remark, "No one likes to smell a pickle that isn't their own." To explain how and why this statement was even necessary would be a sheer waste of time. So, here we go.
This morning, I had a brutally difficult time with the idea of waking up. The same could be said of every morning, but THIS morning was particularly painful. I awakened perhaps more readily than usual, but I had a very strong inclination towards staying in bed for all time. Needless to say, I did not because I could not. I had but a half of an hour to dress, eat my breakfast, and meet the bus at the corner. Whilst I ate breakfast, J. packed me a nutritious and delicious lunch. It had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on honey-wheat bread, a small baggie of apple-cinnamon soy chips, a small baggie of ginger-snaps, a half of a large dill-pickle, and a healthy dollop of hyphens. With my lunch in my backpack, my harmonica in my hand, and J. in my heart, I traipsed merrily off to the bus stop.
It is here that the story takes a crucial turn. See, P. College is not the Mecca of higher learning that I once thought it to be. In fact, I would say that the only aspect of the school that doesn't offend me on any level is their technology. Lots and lots of fast computers with fast internet access. That's it. The buildings themselves are built on some principle that denies both form and function. My Spanish classroom, for example, has no wall large enough to hold an overhead projection. Figure THAT one out.
Anyway, I was just finishing both my African History class and my sandwich, when a craving for the beautiful dilly brine of the pickle struck me. I seized the salty beast and began to pull the lips of the Ziploc baggie apart. The odor of the pickle began to waft from the baggie and I froze. Was it really considerate to be eating a pickle amidst a class of non-pickle eaters? Suddenly, a thought struck me that caused me to gasp and double up in painful epiphany. "No one likes to smell a pickle that isn't their own!"
And so, you can see that I was being entirely truthful when I told you that this would be a waste of your time.
