The story of 124 hours, or how I called a girl a bitch

I’m sweaty. The upstairs air conditioner is broken, leaving myself and my brother with 85-90 degree humidity to wade through.

I was going to tell you how I graduated from college, but I shouldn’t lie about that. A “degree being audited” notice on my account obviously wants me to know that it’s not over yet. But it is. Last Saturday I walked across the stage to golf claps and 1200 disinterested classmates. “Do not throw your mortar boards into the air. I repeat: do not.”

The week before was typical. Too many loose ends, an apartment lease to be signed and packing. Most things involved money. The apartment is either labeled an “efficiency” or a “studio.” It should instead be called “four walls with bathroom.” As to whether I got ripped off or not, or if I could have found a better place for the summer, I try not to think about it. It’s just 3 months, after all.

For those 3 months I’ll be a full-time photographer for the Hays Daily News. Slightly more popular than a high school newsletter, this under 20,000 circulation newspaper will either kill me or make me stronger. You’ll be the first to know.

So here I am, spending my last few days in Wichita before I move back to Hays on Monday. Now’s your chance to tell me something.

Let me tell you a short story.

A few weeks ago, I was walking in the quad between classes. I see Mitch, a campus photographer, so I decide to say hello. A girl happened to be passing the other way, between us. As I said “hi Mitch,” the girl looks at me like I just crapped my pants. I didn’t. I later realize that she probably thought I said, “hi bitch.”

May 20, 2005

Posted in cogitations.