Talk Soup

So this is my first entry of my first online journal. It's kinda like my blogging virginity is about to be taken...by all of you. So I guess that would make it a gang-bang, huh? Or maybe a train? LOL. See, I've already opened this blog with filth.

And let's continue with filth- of a more culinary kind. Here's a recent true story that I think is representative of the awkwardness, silliness, drama, poor decisionmaking, compulsive behavior, and bad luck that plagues my life. Sounds like a recipe for disaster, huh? Bon a petit!

So a couple weeks back, I was having a really rough time here at college. In fact, it was academic hell week, when professors try to wear down your soul with enough exams, papers and deadlines to pound you under the ground. Personally, I had 2 exams and a paper- not to mention several hundred pages of textbook reading to do in preparation.

So in the middle of the week, I had a meltdown. I screamed, I cursed, I got depressed, I sunk into denial. And then I moped around, hating myself.

Finally, I looked in the mirror and it came to me. Christophe, I told myself, you need to get yourself together- you can do this! With that, I resolved to reclaim my exams, starting by getting fly and heading to Starbucks to study/stunt like a rockstar. I derive my shaky self-esteem from academic success and getting male attention- and dammit, I was determined to win in both categories that night!

So at 10 pm, I dressed into an impressively handome ensemble and headed out to get my academic progress at Starubucks, the place to see, be seen, and sometimes study lol. Being cheap, I decided to bring my own plastic bag of food. I warmed up a Campbell's microwavable bowl of soup, put it in a plastic bag, and was on my way. I was looking good, feeling good, at last.

Stepping onto the bus that goes from campus to Starbucks, I wondered if it was a bad idea to have soup in a plastic bag like that. Nah, I'll be fine, I thought. It has a lid, and the ride should be smooth.

I couldn't have been more wrong. We might as well have been in a horse and carriage ride over moon craters- that was the bumpiest ride of my life. And I noticed with every jolt, more soup seeped from underneath the lid into the bag. After a couple minutes, I felt the bottom of the bag, which was hot and full of spilled soup. To my horror, I realized I was carrying a broth-filled IV bag.

Not again! I thought, recalling a traumatizing moment that occured around this EXACT same time freshman year (3 years ago). In that incident, I got onto the back of the bus with a cup of Caribou coffee in a brown paper bag. Suddenly, the coffee broke through the bag and poured onto the floor, flowing slowly like a brown caffeinated river from the rear seats to the driver's seat of the bus, for all to see. "That's why we don't allow food or drinks on the damn bus!" the driver scolded me. I would soon take that semester off.

Snapping back to reality, I realized I had to thwart another semester-ruining disaster like that of freshman year. I put the plastic bag next to me so I could think. But soon, the broth had maliciously pierced through the plastic bag and formed a huge puddle on the seat. The girls next to me stared at it in disgust. Frantic, I grabbed the leaking bag, held it away from me, and dashed to the front of the bus, pouring a soupy trail with each step I took. All eyes were on me- which I hate!!

"Can I get off?" I asked the bus driver, trying to act nonchalent with my dripping bag behind me.

"We just passed the stop," the obese black woman said and kept driving. I silently filled with rage and fear.

"Umm, your bag is leaking," a girl said, pointing at my dripping IV bag.

"Oh...is it?" I asked, feigning ignorance.

The bus driver, horrified at what she saw, put her hand under the bag to stop the messy flow, but was instantly scalded. She yelped and yanked her burnt palm back.

"I...um...I need to get off!" I shouted, unable to take the humiliation.

"Damn right you do!" she yelled.

The driver finally made an emergency stop in the middle of the road.
When the door opened, I self-consciously fled the judgemental eyes of the bus and ran toward a 3 foot stone ledge in front of a nearby dorm to lay my shit down. Of course, the soup suddenly exploded in the bag and left my blazer, sneakers, the ground, and the wall covered in chunks.

Defeated, I wondered what to do next. Finally, I resorted to do what I always do when faced with stress- eat. I sat there on the ledge in the dusk, covered in and surrounded by meaty broth, sorrowfully eating the chicken and mushroom soup that hadn't escaped. The word "hobo" came to mind. I was just glad nobody was around to witness this sad, trashy sight.

Oh, but there was. I noticed a middle-aged, white woman parked in a parking space right in front of me. She was staring at me, her face filled with disbelief at what she was witnessing. Soon our eyes met, she got nervous, and backed out of the parking spot....only to park 3 spaces away and continue staring at me from afar, like I was a sideshow act from which she could not turn..

All I wanted was to read my sociology over a frappuccino at Starbucks and snag a man in the process!! Humiliated and a mess, I was ill prepared for my exams- just like freshman year.
I would soon take the next semester off.

Welcome to my world.