Adam

Work’s been going alright. The only on the job injury is when my legs fall asleep, so I can’t complain. Low stress would be an overstatement. However, something happened last Thursday that’s worth sharing, so your put reading hats on.

It was a pale morning, and the rain began to gently darken the pavement. The overcast sky and cool weather was something I had been looking forward to for months; it was finally sweatshirt weather. I took a sip from my S.T.A.T. tumbler, full of lukewarm coffee. The woman in the booth next to me, my coworker, reminded me how early it was with a weary smile.

Ticket after ticket, I allowed the hospital staff (every one of them mimicking my coworker’s expression after their twelve hour shifts) to depart for home, and much needed rest. While it was hard to tell the number from where I was sitting, it was clear that the line of cars stretched far back into the ramp. I dictated whether or not these exhausted life savers would be allowed salvation after their long endeavors. I grinned at the dark humor of the thought as the line began to finish.

The final car wasn’t like the others. The rusting blue paint and lack of license plates stuck out in comparison to the caravan of well-to-do vehicles that had just come through. As it rolled closer, the goosebumps forming down my arms weren’t just from the foreign fifty degree weather. The machine in the booth that processes stubs couldn’t handle this one; it was long, sharp, and made of tempered steel.

With the knife at my throat, I peered down at the wrinkled face of my most belligerent customer to date.

“It seems I’ve forgotten my wallet, think you can spot me for this one?” he asked in a manner that oozed pure cliche.

“I think your permit’s expired!” I yelled in an equally cheesy manner, slamming the window shut on his arm and making him drop the Bowie Knife to the floor. In falling, the blade sliced lightly along my pant leg, and  my jeans began to absorb a thin line of blood as I grabbed my trusty red Streamline stapler and dove out of the booth.

This driver’s next ticket was equally as useless to the processing machine, but much louder, as a barrage of shots made deafening echoes bounce through the concrete structure.

Taking cover behind an orange traffic cone, I waited for a break in the gunfire. When the opportunity arose, I stood up from my Hollywood-adequate protection.

“Here’s your stapler, Milton!” and with that obscure reference, I flung my stapler at my assailant’s chest. With a resounding “CHA-CHICK,” the office device planted thin metal lightly into his heart.

“You haven’t…heard…the last of us,” he said with his dying breath, hinting at a sequel. I dug the actual parking stub out of his jacket and put it into the reader. He had been there under fifteen minutes.

“You’re good to go, have a nice day sir,” I said before collapsing from the blood loss.

This didn’t happen. Really, it was a boring week, and I decided to be creative. Again, this was a fictional story. I want to make it clear that my job is very safe, and that I didn’t kill a man with a stapler.

The game yesterday was rough. I mean, really, really rough. Like in shop class in high school, when you learn about the grades of sand paper? This is like grade 2 rough. After literally screaming my lungs out (I think I saw a chunk fly out during the second quarter), it was exhausting to walk back to the house my friends and I were headquartered at, and then sit there and listen to complaints from Hawkeye fans, and take in the silent grins of the present State fans.

What made it worse was that I had been up since 4:30 that morning to work event parking. So I was pretty beat. However, allow me to put some optimism into a seemingly bad situation. During my nine hour shift, I did a little social experiment to flex what I had learned in one of my classes the day before. We had studied how facial expressions can be both conscious and subconscious, and, more specifically, what people do when they lie.

(Side Note: When someone’s lying, the area between their eyebrows will furrow for a split second.)

Now, my job was to make sure that one of the lots was kept empty as people desperately tried to find a spot before the game. The method I was instructed to use involved me asking if they were going to the game, and if so, to direct them away from the lot (for the sake of the parking department, I’m not going to specify which area. Park where you’re supposed to!). If someone (most of the time with full Iowa swag on) said “No,” and that little furrow appeared, I prodded a little more.

I ended up turning a lot of cars away.

It was amazing how many people would attempt to snake their way in, even with plenty of time left to find other parking before the game. What was more amazing was how I used something I learned in school in the real world. One of my professors had said that one of HIS professors said (he said, she said) that real learning happens outside of the classroom. I half agree.

In terms of eventfulness, this was an extremely busy week. It was full of action, adventure, and heartbreak. Sit back, and allow me to weave you three tales to describe (as best I can) the life changing experiences that made the last seven days more exciting than the usual.

Action:

Get a job with parking, see this.

Last week, I started my new job. I’ll give you a few hints as to what it is; I chase down bad guys, wear cool gear, and save Gotham from most certain destruction. If you guessed “Parking Booth Operator,” great guess! I would have accepted “Parking Booth Guy,” too. I bet most males aged 12-24 would love to have Batman’s job, but this one’s alright too. The gig itself is very easy: take money, make change. It pays well, and the downtime between customers means there’s a lot of opportunities to get paid for homework (or Netflix movies). The most threatening part is when a middle-aged woman rolls up, and scrutinizes the amount of change I’ve given her for a full minute. It’s the right amount, I promise.

Adventure:

On Thursday of the past week, I stepped up and took on the biggest fear known to man: public speaking. The Campus Activities Board (CAB) hosted an open mic competition at T.Spoons, offering aspiring musicians and comedians their chance at claiming one of three cash prizes (I guess you could call the Campus Activities Board the “Cash CAB” this week… haha…) for best performance. While I wasn’t one of the three to be handed a gift card (all of the awards went to very talented musicians), being patted on the back and congratulated several times was payment enough. Hell, maybe I’ll try stand up again! As long as I don’t get cold feet (like a penguin… ha… ha… O.k. I’m done).

Heartbreak:

I end my post today with a story of spirit crushing heartbreak. It could also be a case of depressing comedy, depending on the kind of person you are. Last Tuesday, as you may have been able to tell by the line stretching a block and a half down Clinton, was the 20th birthday of Panchero’s. Now, I’m not typically a huge fan (and NEVER bump up the burrito at football games), but like a mosquito drawn to a bright light that would ensure my death, I was part of the line for $1 Burritos.

You can almost see Panchero’s from here!

A friend and I boarded the line at 3:45 p.m., assuming I’d have enough time to get a burrito and make it to my 5 o’clock class. For over an hour, I stood there, wiped sweat from my brow, and tanned my arms. It was the closest thing to the drought that I’ve experienced. As 4:50 clicked on to the sign of a local bank (right after the stupid thing reminded me, AGAIN, that it was 93 degrees out), I managed to peek inside of the gigantic free-for-all that was the restaurant. I made the decision to split the difference and leave. The good student inside of couldn’t stand to miss the only lecture I have that grades attendance. I was heartbroken.

So there are the highs and low of my last week. I’d say it was pretty satisfying. Not too busy, not too boring, but enough action, adventure, and heartbreak to inspire a Hollywood blockbuster.

Check out this shiny new blog, I bet it’s worth reading! But really, if you’re reading this, I’m glad you decided to grace my page with a view. Ya’ll come back now!

This weekend has been a baby-step for me towards the acceptance of an adult reality. Although my building at Hawks Ridge (formerly the Lodge) came fully furnished, I still managed to throw together bin upon bin of things to bring. The items I packed include: kitchen utensils, pots and pans, a TV, books, sheets, clothes, and food (more Mac and Cheese than could ever be consumed). But guess what! I forgot to bring a bath mat, and a trash can, and a (take a guess here, you’ll probably be right).

The sense of realism I was feeling was heightened when I tried to cook this morning. The burners on my stove are foreign (and feisty), and everything had to be opened and eventually resealed, and dishes had to be cleaned. Anyone who’s spent more than a week in an apartment will laugh at me, but it’s difficult to get “into the swing of things” when you have to create “the swing.”

I imagine most people feel a small sense of this when moving in. A new place is exciting and scary. However, coming back to Iowa, I feel at home. The campus is the same (for the most part, minus that new patch of dirt by Rienow). Hanging out with my friends was a warm way to assimilate myself for life at school. So go make some friends! Friends are good.