A Thirteen Dollar Sandwich

My classmates seem to be getting a little friendlier as the term progresses. There seems to be a certain camaraderie and bonding when everyone feels they are on a sinking ship as we feel we are in Math 100. After spending four hours on Math homework last night and researching absolute values in inequalities in several different books, I thought I had gotten the concept pretty well. There were several problems, however, that I couldn't understand why the answer in the back of the book didn't jibe with mine. So this morning before class, I decided to compare answers with Crystal, the girl who sits behind me. It turns out she was much further off the mark than I was, and I ended up explaining to her what little I knew. She became quite vocal with her frustrations: "I should NOT be hearing this from you," she practically roared. "Ms. Arora should have told us this herself. You should not have had to research it at the library to figure it out!" To which I agreed.

The instructor addressed my issues during her lecture then, so the missing links have now been linked, although not without a certain amount of stress. No one in the class could understand what she was saying, and she herself became quite frustrated. "I can see by your faces there's a problem," she said. The language barrier has diminished somewhat as our ears become more familiar with the way she speaks. In fact, I find myself thinking in short, choppy sentences; I think to myself all the time, "Is there a problem?" and I have this compulsion to put "right?" at the end of all my declarative sentences.

Sharon and I attended an informal workshop last week at South Campus on how to use a scientific calculator. Things have been decidedly better since then. I haven't used it that much, but I certainly feel a little more "empowered" when it comes to this math thing. It fits so nicely into my backpack pocket. We both decided we are going to fight to get into that instructor's class for Math 116. We are students on "the hill," and are therefore prohibited from getting South Campus classes. I didn't really know what the difference was between the South Campus classes and the Hill classes until another student today told me that South Campus is actually for students who have not taken their ACT's. The students who end up there tend to be your non traditional, older people. Sharon managed to "sob story" her way into Mr. Downing's South Campus Math 100 class this semester, so maybe if I push the right buttons.... I shall make it an item of prayer. I really need to get a good instructor if I am to pass 116. This is, of course, presuming I can pass the 100 class with a grade greater than a C. Well, enough about Math, my continuing drama....

Last Sunday, our church had what they dubbed "Heritage Sunday." Elwood had a message on the Amish, and then Oliver had a message on the Mennonites. We sang in both English and in German, and afterward, we had a traditional Amish church meal. Now I knew about the Amish peanut butter, but I didn't know they had bean soup with mushy bread in it. That was a little too much. I could not partake of it. I had pictured mashed potatoes, green beans, meat, etc., for the meal. I think I may have been drawing on my experience with Amish weddings as opposed to any experience I may have had at an Amish church service. After lunch, they had a horse and buggy there to give the little children rides with. It was all very interesting. I invited Dee to come with me, so she did. She sent her child to her church with her husband because she was afraid Jayce would disrupt our church service. She said afterward she shouldn't have worried about it. It seemed our babies were in extra ill moods and fuss, fuss, fuss was all you heard.

Dee is three months pregnant, and it didn't take her long to discover the pickles sitting in various places on the tables. I have no idea exactly how many pickles she ate, but there was this one certain kind that she fell in love with. I had one--and one was all I could handle. It was the sourest pickle I've ever tasted. So sour it seemed to burn the inside of my mouth. Well, she made it her mission to track down whoever had made those pickles. It turned out to be Judy, who wasn't even there that morning. So one of the church ladies gave her her phone number, and wouldn't you know it... yesterday, I heard her make a phone call to Miss Judy. She plumb asked her for a jar of pickles because she was still craving it. I don't know what Judy thought, but she seemed to take it well enough. And Dee has a jar of pickles coming to her in the morning.

I have three tests coming up in three consecutive classes next week: Math, Sociology, and Speech. I knew I had to head on over to the library tonight to try to get a grip on myself and my subjects. I decided to grab a chicken sandwich from McDonald's because it was going to be a long evening. And only one thing is worse than studying when you're sleepy....studying when you're sleepy and hungry. If I had seen the line that was on the other side of the McDonald's building before I placed my order for yes....just a chicken sandwich please.... I would never have stopped there. As I've never been the type to place an order and then drive off in a huff, I ended up sitting there for about fifteen minutes waiting and waiting and... By the time I arrived at the window, I was ILL. The greasy guy who opened the window to collect my money was a real duffer. He was the epitome of a Kentucky redneck. And then he opened his mouth and out rolled a British accent. "$13.13" he said, only it came out sounding like "thuteen, thuteen." "Uhhh.....I only had a chicken sandwich," I said. "Oh," he said. He closed the window briefly, then came back... "Yes, that's right," he said. "Thuteen, thuteen." "For a sandwich????" I asked. "Yes," he said. "THIRTEEN dollars for a SANDWICH?" I couldn't help the rising decibal level. He consulted his screen again. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said. "It's thray, thuteen." I handed him a five so that he couldn't abuse my money. I think he was embarrassed because he apologized again and said, "I was reading it backwards." Ummm.. :-

I took my sandwich and scurried over to the library, trying to make up for lost time. I bit into the chilly chicken sandwich, out of which oozed an abhorrent amount of mayonnaise. No napkin. And the sandwich was in one of their everlasting environment-friendly boxes. I had to end up wiping my hands on the bag. As I contemplated The Sandwich, I stopped for a moment and considered the chicken salad sandwich Dee had had for lunch today. She had bit into it and found a long strand of hair tangled and twined in and out of her teeth. I turned my interior light on and Examined my sandwich. As far as I could tell, it was hair free, but I was grossed out just the same. I think it will be a long time before I venture to that particular McDonald's again. The sad thing was that I had chosen it because I figured it would be faster than going to Subway. Wrong.
I had an uneventful two hours at the library, my only company what I refer to as the Library Mafia. These library monitors go sailing around the perimeter of all nine floors routinely looking for students who are in violation of any of their many rules. They have little ear pieces and walkie talkies. The ones I have seen seem to always be dressed in black. The thing they don't realize is that the speed with which they march makes them sound like a herd of elephants coming. Their presence is well-announced. But I suppose if I have my CD player plugged into my head, however, like I did tonight, I might not hear them coming. Which brings to mind...

I had stopped in at Wal-Mart for some supplies prior to McDonald's and the library. I decided it was time for some fresh music, so I picked up an instrumental cd to help me while away the hours. Of course, I had to set the alarm off when I exited the store. Why wouldn't I when I was in a hurry? The first I was aware of it was when a tottery old grandma hollers after me, "Excuse me...excuse me!" I turned around, and she loudly announced to All that I had set the alarm off. Fine. I can be searched. I dug my receipt out of my wallet to prove that I had paid for my cd. She looked at the receipt and then, in turn, the cd. "C-E-L-T.." she spelled out slowly. "Celtic," I said. "But what is it?" she asked. Hello?? Is it not enough that I should be searched as if I were a common thief...but to have to explain my purchase to a little old grandma who has never heard of celtic music before?? That's a little uncalled for, and besides, I don't have the time for it! I just hope she likes McDonald's...

Dr. G informed us we are being photographed for a yellow pages ad tomorrow. "Wear something colorful," he told us. "Dee, you would look good in blue. Kim, what color can you wear? Shall we all wear scrubs?" Needless to say, I am hoping to avoid the entire thing altogether.

He "busted" me earlier this week when I was giving his daughter Isabel some Oreo cookies a drug rep had bestowed on us. Of course, he would pick the very moment I'm giving them to her to walk through the kitchen. Is it just me? or do I seem to have an unusual amount of bad luck? "Miss Kris," he said reproachfully. "Are you feeding my daughter partially hydrogenated oil?" Who, me?? "Isabel LOVES Double Stuff," I said authoritatively, as I beat a hasty retreat back to my office, not waiting for any other Comments from the afore-mentioned.

His Error of the Week was showing Isabel how to run stuff through the postage meter. So now as of this afternoon we have at least one lovely little post-it note with 37 cents postage on it. I walked in on him as he was trying to explain her error to her even as she was hiding behind the door. "But I guess we could use it as a postcard," I heard him say as I passed through. Yeah right. Whatever.