It happened around noon. I had woken up maybe an hour earlier, and the only task I had accomplished on that humidity-stricken Wednesday was check my e-mail.
Actually, it was a bigger task than you might think, because for the first time since last fall, I had zero messages in my inbox.
That's right, zero.
Now having crap in your inbox might not be a big deal to you, but being the on-the-brink-of-obsessive-compulsive neat freak that I am, it matters to me.
I first wrote back to the people who were upset with me, because these were friends who had e-mailed me about three months ago and to whom I had never responded.
They have come to expect it, as this is a regular problem I have, but they were upset nonetheless.
Actually, that was about 14 out of the 15 e-mails I wrote that morning. And not surprisingly, none of these people have written back since then.
But anyways, back to my story. At about 11:45, I decided to leave The Daily Pennsylvanian sports office in search of food. I hit the streets wearing the gray Penn State cross country t-shirt which I had slept in (to achieve that lazy-couch-potato look while I wandered about on the street). I got the shirt two summers ago at a volleyball camp in State College, and I like to wear it, especially when I take my once-a-month, two-and-a-half-mile jog, which is about all I can handle since I stopped running competitively after high school. I also own a Penn State volleyball t-shirt, which Penn alum and Philadelphia Phillies outfielder Doug Glanville said he didn't like when he saw me wearing it earlier this summer during a brief interview I had with him.
What's wrong with Penn State, besides the fact that it's a different school than Penn and nobody seems to freakin' realize that? After all, it's not like I'm going around in a Princeton basketball jersey.
Anyways, back to my story. I first considered eating something from Fresh Grocer, but decided that I wasn't in the mood for greasy pizza or any of their other overpriced ready-to-serve food.
I crossed the street and was about to walk into the nearby McDonald's when I saw a line of what must have been close to 15 people. Actually, it wasn't really a line. It was more of a mob of persons, each of which wanted to get their food and get out as quickly as possible. Obviously they went to the wrong place.
So I continued my journey, realizing that my next-best option would be the food trucks. Now if you've been around the University City area this summer, you know that the Gimbel food trucks have now become the where-the-hell-are-they food trucks because of the construction (which, um, seems to, um, be progressing, um, nicely).
I finally found them on Sansom between 37th and 38th. As usual, there were plenty of people at the crepe truck, and not so many, well, anywhere else.
After careful consideration, I decided to go with Kim's. I ordered Sesame Chicken and waited as they prepared my food. Sesame Chicken is, after all, what I like to call the `food of champions' (some people mistakenly believe that title belongs to Wheaties).
About two minutes later, as I leaned against the brick wall in eager anticipation of my lunch, it happened.
Plop. Uh huh -- a bird decided to eliminate its bodily waste on my left shoulder (for those of you who are still unclear, it means a bird crapped on me).
I frantically scurried about, looking for a napkin, or something. One of Kim's chefs witnessed the event, and laughingly handed me some napkins.
My eager anticipation had turned into impatient embarrassment, and after I got the food and paid for it, I bolted out of there.
I eventually slowed to a quick pace as I turned left onto 38th and then right onto Walnut to head back to the DP office.
It was then that I reached a heightened sense of enlightenment.
Be true to your school, because even the birds are watching.Comments powered by Disqus
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