A Mental Lapse

I don’t know about the rest of you, but occasionally I have days where I act like the biggest idiot in the world. There was the day where I sent some Nigerian man a money order for $500 so that he could forward me the balance of his ex-brother’s father’s son’s parole officer’s bank account. There was the day I leaned against the freshly painted wall of a restuarant in a rented tuxedo. And there was the day I went into the women’s room at Serendipity, was told I was in the wrong bathroom, and then proceeded to walk further in, thinking the men’s room must be in there somewhere. But yesterday topped them all.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not a dumb guy. I did really well on my SAT’s and currently attend UGA, which has actually become a somewhat respected academic university. I made it into the National Merit Scholarship competition with my PSAT scores (even though I was failing chemistry at the time; that was a fun conversation to have with my principal). So I have my head on my shoulders pretty well, I just sometimes forget to think. Anyway, story time:

Last week I bought a moped to get back and forth to campus more easily. I know I know, mopeds carry a bit of a reputation, but I am plenty secure enough in my masculinity to ride one. I consider it a conserative take on the motorcycle. The girls outside Starbucks a few days ago did not see it the same way though. Anyway, I got this moped but I’m not really used to it yet. I forget to turn the lights off sometimes, I take turns too sharply and jump the curb (also in front of the Starbucks girls), and I am terrified to get it over 40 mph.

But the other day I once again went outside to head over to the dining hall. The night before when I had been riding my mirrors hadn’t been adjusted quite right, and seeing as how I can barely keep the thing upright with training wheels on it, I figured I should wait and just adjust the mirrors the next day. I went outside and sat on it, playing with the mirrors until they were just perfect. Then I walked over to my car to get my helmet out of my passenger seat. (I had the helmet in the car because I like to walk around with it once i get wherever I’m going. It seems to garner a lot of respect; at least until someone asks me what my ride is.) I realized I didn’t have my car keys in my pocket and came back inside the house to my bedroom. That’s where it began.

I have a keyed lock on my bedroom door because my roommates have sketch friends who would like nothing more than to pawn my Sex and the City DVD collection for weed money. I had locked my door from the inside before I shut it and my room key was on the same ring as my car key. I tried desperately for a few minutes to break into my door with credit cards, knives, etc., but it was not happening. I finally gave up and walked around the house to break into my window.

At first I was going to use my hammer, which I then realized was in my room. Then I was going to use my Mag-Lite, which I remembered was in my car. I walked all through the house and the only thing available that was hard enough to get the job done was a golf club one of my roommate’s owns. I took it outside and looked at my window, laughing at the irony.

I had never noticed that my window is about 6 feet off the ground. And that immediately below it were the thickest thorn bushes I have ever seen. And that I had on shorts. Awesome. I grabbed a folding chair (the only thing available to stand on) and made my way through the thorns, cursing and muttering the whole time. I finally got up to the wall and opened the folding chair, placing it under my window. I stood up on it and it immediately collapsed, throwing me headfirst into the bushes around me. After whacking the bushes with the golf club I got back up and balanced myself on the folding chair.

I got up square with the window, and I was angry. I was bleeding out of places you should never be bleeding out of, and I wanted to smash the window. I took the club back, let out a great bellow, and swung with all my might. And I swear to you the window did not break. What it did do was bounce the club back and HIT ME IN THE FACE. So picture that: I’m standing out in front of my house, up on a folding chair, blood running down my legs, holding a 3 Iron and crying. Definitely a humble moment for me.

After awhile I got up the courage to try and again and eventually broke the window. I cut myself quite a bit clearing the pieces of glass, unlatching the window, and climbing inside. Once I got in my room I looked over on my nightstand. No keys. I always put my keys on my nightstand. Ok, no worries, they must be in my pants’ pocket from last night. Nope. Bed? Nope. Drawer where I keep my knitting supplies? Nope. I searched my room wall to wall and could not find them anywhere. I stood up and sighed, glancing out of the window I had just crawled through.

And there, in the ignition of my scooter, hung my keys. I could see them from the window that I had just paid my dignity to climb through. They were shimmering in the sunlight, almost as if trying to say ‘Here we are Josh! Look at us!’

You know, sometimes it just seems like life is problem after problem. One thing goes wrong, then another. And they slowly build for awhile. But my theory is that we as humans have a tolerance for that, and eventually we reach a point where none of those things matter any more. When I saw those keys hanging there I laughed for a long time. I knitted a nice little cover for my window and taped it up, then went outside and headed on my way. So if you live in Athens and see me on my scooter, just remember that I’m not very comfortable on it still, so if you honk or yell my name I’ll probably wreck.

Josh