Indoctrination and Conflict

First, why cats are so damned bad-ass.

Second, why I'm so damned bad-ass.

Classes started a week ago here at the University of Utah, so I thought it was time to buy my books. I went to the book store and spent half an hour finding half of my books- the others were out of stock. Then I checked my wallet. Much like a cartoon, moths flew out when I opened it. So I carried my books over to the ATM which is outside of the book store and slipped my card in. Tum te tum, dum de dum. I enter my PIN, ask for $250 in cold, hard cash, and wait. Transaction declined.

I glance to the left. I glance to the right. Nobody saw me take these books out of the store. I'm a college student. I'm about to buy a motorcycle. I can't afford educational books! What do they expect?!

But I'm an honest rat, so I take them back inside. I step up to a security woman, and ask where I can have them held for me. She gives me a blank look. I ask again: "Where can I have these books held, so I can get them later?" She gives me a blank look. A student comes over and tells me where the customer service desk is, so I go there and drop the books off. As I'm walking out, I hear somebody call: "Excuse me, sir!"

I felt a tap on my shoulder and I turned around. It was the woman who didn't understand English. She said: "Did you pay for that?"

"What?"

"Did you pay for that bag?"

I hadn't slept last night. My honesty just cost me $300 in over-priced text books. I was in a bad fucking mood. "You just saw me walk in with it."

"But it looks new. Did you pay for it?"

"Yes. At Fred Meyer's. Last week."

Snotty: "Do you have the receipt?"

I clenched my fists. I smiled sweetly. "No, ma'am, I don't carry receipts for every item of clothing I'm wearing." I pause, take a deep breath. "Did you pay for those pants? Because I don't see a receipt. I don't see any god-damned evidence that you paid for those pants."

She took a step back, a little surprised. Then she responded with, "Well, I need to see inside that bag." Glowering into her eyes, I unzipped the bag and pulled it open, displaying my notebooks and folders and pens. "That all looks new," she noted, haughty. "Did you steal those too?"

I took a deep breath. I took out a notebook and showed her the first three days worth of notes for French. Then I told her: "They're brand fucking new because classes started three fucking days ago."

So anyway... where was I... kinda lost my train of thought. Well anyway, I guess what I'm trying to say here is, I... hate... sauerkraut! And if you ever wake up and find yourself in an existential quandry, your life devoid of meaning, at least you can take some small comfort in knowing that there's still a little place called Salt Lake City.