The journey into school everyday is ritualistic. My day begins... I speed into the parking lot behind the Student Union flipping off everyone trying to steal my parking spot, which I have clearly marked with my blinker. I usually park in one of those Student Association van spots knowing that by the time I leave for the day I will have a ticket.
On my walk into the Union I again pass SA parking spots less then five feet from the building and in all my awe and jealousy I trip and fall on the poorly paved sidewalks.
I black out and blood streams from my head. I quickly realize that I may need to seek medical attention so I decide it is imperative for me to visit a medical center. I unfortunately do not want my name printed in The Spectrum safety report so I do not call the University Police like everyone else does for an ankle sprain.
The stream of blood is flowing fast so I decide to run into the Union hoping that maybe someone will be ale to help. I immediately search the SU for the North Campus Medical Center but realize that the proposition from SA has yet to pass or been heard of in a year.
I am not angry because I know bringing in the Dalai Lama was more important than the health needs of the students. My only other option to heal my wound is the Red Cross, who is positioned on the second floor. One of the cute nurses patches me up but leaves me with bad news.
She believes that I may have received an infection after using one of the club promotion flyers as a bandage that was handed to me on my jog looking for the health center.
I continue on, but start freaking out about the possible infection I may have on my head so I rush to the Capen Library hoping to find more information on open wounds and glossy paper with semi naked chicks on them.
I grab a computer and the blood on my noggin has stopped. But my headache continues as I wait for a computer in back of a student searching for Uggs on the Internet. My legs become limp as I arrive at the station because I am forced to wait 20 minutes for my UBIT name to log in.
I give up on finding information fearing that I may accidentally land on a pornographic Web site and be referred to Student Wide Judiciary. The goody good student committee frightens me because I do not want to be handed one of their crazy punishments like taxing drunk girls around campus at night.
I flee the library suddenly finding that I have a drenched shirt. There are plenty of clothing shops on campus so I do not freak out. I check my wallet and find I do not have much money. I need at least 10 dollars to get a tiny chicken sandwich and soup from Putnams.
I am satisfied with cutting the five-dollar rotten salad out of my diet and know that I have a package of Raemen Noodles at my Winspear residence. I pray that the bum who broke into my apartment this week didn't steal the noodles like he did my laptop.
I arrive at the two clothing stores in the Commons and am disappointed. I refuse to pay 35 dollars for a UB sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants. Plus the pants with Buffalo across the ass would not look flattering on me.
Instead I buy an "I love UB pharmacy sweatshirt" from that store filled with every knick-knack known to man. I know that once I wear this sweatshirt the logo will be torn away because it was made in some sweatshop but am satisfied with the fact that I can reuse it as a rag.
I already find a use for the rag on my way to class in NSC after being knocked on to the muddy construction grass in the spine by one of those protest marches.
My journey has made me extremely tired and after barley understanding my professor because he is from a country I have never heard off I stumble out of my 600-person lecture hall hoping to get some sleep.
I was wrong like everything else going wrong in my day I run into that one girl who I stalked on Facebook when I was drunk and do that awkward head nod which symbolizes I'm not a weirdo.
I decided I need a self esteem boost and make a quick stop in the SU eating area, I try using my get naked Windex line on the 80-sorority hotties hogging the tables looking for instant gratification, but I fail.
To make matters worst the commuter lounge I sleep in has been eliminated for another useless office, which means no sleep. I am pissed because every time I walk by those offices all I see is three work-study students.
Fed up I decided to wonder back to my off-campus apartment which is in North Buffalo. I used to live in Sweet Home but was kicked out after charges of fellatio in the hot tub.
I finally arrive home trying to relax but realize that my last task to handle is the fact I have no toilet paper.
I ball up a copy of Generation (except for the personals) and have solved the toilet paper problem thank god. My night ends with a goodnight moon wondering where my stumbles will bring me tomorrow at UB.
Photo: Courtesy of Laron Fomby
