t’s embarrasing when someone thinks you cut a fart… guilty or not. *sigh* Every morning, I find myself rushing to catch up on things. The alarm goes off–or M nudges me to wake up–and it takes me 15 to 20 minutes to get me to stir out of bed. I trudge on over to the computer, turn it on, go take my morning leak as the computer boots up, and then I plop myself at my desk. What day is it today, and what do I have to do? My schedule pops up and it tells me I have class. No shit, I mumble to myself and start to get together the things I need for work… when it suddenly strikes me. Oh shit! I forgot…
To make the bungo quiz… or
To grade the last stack of papers… or
To go over my notes for class… or
To make a hand out for today’s lecture… or
That there was a meeting today… or
…any number of other things. Everyday it is something. Everyday there is some kind of mini-crisis waiting for me in the recesses of my mind. And my response is to shift gears and go full throttle. After a cup of Joe,
- I work on whatever it is I have to work on,
- Freak out when the clock tells me I have about an hour left before class,
- Jump into the shower,
- Change into something appropriate,
- Stuff the appropriate things–book, folders, binders–into my backpack and
- Rush off to work.
Unfortunately, I’m usually running behind the clock, so even though I live only a seven minute walk from the station, M will give me a ride. I literally make the train with seconds to spare–almost every day, I am embarrassed to say. I step into the train and the door closes before I can even sit down sometimes. Laugh all you want. Make fun of me if you will. Hell, I’d make fun of myself too, if I wasn’t always in a rush. I almost feel like Dagwood Bumstead rushing out of the house every morning, but that’s probably too old a reference for most of you to grasp.
Anyway, today was no different. I sit in the car as M takes me on my two minute ride.
“Tuna sandwich,” I say.
“Tuna sandwich. That’s what you made me for lunch, right?” Yes, I’m a lucky guy. M makes me lunch everyday. Sometimes it’s riceballs, other times a box lunch of stir-fry. But not today. “It smells like a tuna sandwich,” I say pointing to my backpack.
M smiles. “It must be the onions.” Then she starts to giggle. “I smelled the same thing too, but I thought you’d farted.”
“What? You thought the onions you put into a sandwich was a fart?!?”
M bursts out laughing. Indeed, she is beside herself as I was getting out of the car. “Be sure to sit away from others, in an out-of-the-way spot.”
What a loving wife… I wish I’d had a sign that said I was carrying a sandwich with lots of onions in it. Instead, I had to hope that the other passengers could tell the difference between the smell of onions and a fart.