Someone calling in sick to work in order to sleep for their hour long shift.
Someone breakdancing to a boombox blasting Christmas music on the quad.
Someone crying because they got a free sandwich.
Someone walking into the lounge at 1 am with a huge stack of books, and the determination of someone who forgot a term paper.
Someone putting off writing their thesis because someone else needed math help and “logarithms are fun!”
Someone taking a lighter to a notebook as soon as they left the science building.
More than one flask being carried to class.
Someone literally giggle evilly when given a 6-pack of beer.
A freshman taking gen eds complaining about everyone else complaining about how hard finals are. (Note: the freshman may or may not have ever been seen again.)
Someone crossing campus at a run in slippers.
A nursing major explaining that finals are actually natural selection, and that she is the strongest and most adaptable and she was going to survive, while talking to herself.
A different nursing major looking very forlorn because she just ran out of wine.
Someone sleeping on a bench in the music building, with actual pillows and blankets and everything.
Sticky notes with swearwords written on them littered around the science building.
A group of students trying to one-up each other about how badly their juries had just gone.
Someone leaving for the library at 3 am, because there was free coffee there.
Someone flipping off the professor after being wished good luck on the final.
The same person realizing that they have an entire lifetime of that class ahead of them, because it’s their major.
Someone being questioned about how they wanted their funeral to look, after talking about the 8000 words they had due.
Just, so many people sprawled on floors because it’s easier to do that than anything else. So many.
The most genuine gratitude I’ve had directed at me possibly ever, because I gave someone a peanut butter cookie.
Finals: we’re all tired, hungry, and a little unhinged. It’s okay.
Picture the scene. Eighth grade. Tiny baby earlgraytay- young, scrappy, hungry, and with a chip on their shoulder from being the Weird Kid who was constantly in and out of trouble.
Tiny baby EGT has an American History teacher that we’ll call Mrs. B. Mrs. B. was very loud and very Long Islander and liked baby me for being just as nerdy about history as she was (though I think she occasionally wanted me to stop blurting out all the answers so that the other kids could learn something.)
We did a Mock Constitutional Convention wherein every kid in the class got the part of a delegate. If you were quieter and/or needed to watch more than talk, you got an obscure delegate and could mostly watch.
If you were a blabbermouth, like me, you got Alexander Hamilton.
So, I was really proud of myself, because Alexander Hamilton was a big important guy who talked a lot and had a lot of opinions.
My mom helped me make a terrible tiny Hamilton cosplay. I had a frilly shirt and buckle shoes and I distinctly remember putting my hair in the rattiest boy-ponytail in the history of boy ponytails.
I spent like three days reading over all my notes and vibrating intensely, and vowed I would give, like, the best performance ever, and do all the arguing.
Unfortunately, there was a flaw in my clever plan.
The flaw in said clever plan was that everyone else in my class was in eigth grade. They thought history was a thing you slogged through to get an A, and no one else was as into this as I was.
So, I basically had the floor for the entire mock Convention.
I seem to remember spending a lot of time talking about the National Bank and making compromises with imaginary opponents because our TJeffs and our John Adams and just about everyone else were wayyyyy happy to let me talk and get graded for my performance.
tl;dr: Imagine an AU wherein Alexander Hamilton wrote the entire Constitution single-handedly because no one else showed up.
"I thought I was just going to do Hamilton for fun; I didn’t realize that I was stepping into a historic piece of theater. I mean, President Obama came to the fifth preview of the show– we hadn’t even opened yet! We had heard three days before that he was going to be in the audience, and everyone received an email saying, “Please show up to Hamilton as though it was airport security.” We were on lockdown until the president got there. When he came backstage, he said, “A lot of people make really great things and they never get recognized. You guys should really enjoy that you’ve made something great and it’s being embraced from the very beginning.” He shook everyone’s hand. We were in awed silence. The only two times that someone of note has come backstage and it’s been that silent was for Obama… and Beyoncé, who came with Jay Z. Everyone rushed to meet her, so I was like, “Okay, I probably won’t get to shake her hand, but as long as I can, like, breathe the same air, it’s fine.” And then she looked at me and said, “Were you the king? You were f–––ing incredible!” She told me she was going to steal my walk, and did an impersonation of the walk I do when I enter the stage. And then she looked me up and down and said, “I saw everything.” That’s when the ground opened up and I fell into my grave and died. A tombstone went up and it said, “Cause of Death: Beyoncé.”"
“1/4? Really? Who writes a measure of ¼. WHY would you write a measure of ¼?” “Because fuck you that’s why.”
“I will literally trade you my sandwich for that practice room.” “Dude you should eat your lunch.” “I won’t be able to eat it if my teacher decapitates me for not practicing JUST TAKE IT.”
“I always wanted to look inside the percussion room. It’s like Narnia, but noisier.”
“Satan created piccolos to punish the trumpets for their pride.”
“I’m thinking about dropping music history.” “But why, don’t you need that class?” “Yes but half of it is non-music majors and two people were having a discussion about why there were hashtags at the beginning of the music.”
“So my teacher convinced me to take the History of Rock and Roll over the Summer but it was an online course and he found the webcam filters and inevitably the first unit ended up being taught by a talking dinosaur on my webcam. This man teaches college theory.”
“SHH. Don’t say the theory teacher’s name. He’s like Beetlejuice. If you say it three times he’ll appear behind you and fuck your shit up.”
“I found out Mozart had a butt fetish and I’m never going to be able to stop calling him Mozfart.”
“If I see a drink within 100 feet of that Steinway I will track you down and beat you with my harpsichord.”
There was a baby in the breakfast place this morning, probably about… 8 months old? Sitting in one of those attached-to-the-table sling chair things? And this baby was excruciatingly cute. Fat little cheeks and soft cloud of cherubic blonde curls and big, sparkly manga eyes.
And the baby kept crossing their little bare feet and every time they did Jack was like “!!!!!!!”
And he kept like, pausing breakfast and looking at the baby and like ??? cooing. Saying “Ooooooooo,” and smiling at this baby.
Finally we get up to go and he walks right up to this baby and puts his hands into this baby’s little soft cloud of baby curls and he looks at baby’s mom and says “This baby is the cutest baby. This baby is so sweet and I want to snuggle it.“
And I was like “OMG SORRY MY BIG KID IS TOUCHING YOUR BABY” and Jack’s like “PLEASE NO LET ME KEEP TOUCHING THIS BABY” and I pull him away and go pay and he is like, watching this baby like a hawk the whole time
And he says bye and blows a kiss to the mom and says, “Please give this kiss to that baby from me.” and she says she will and she’s like, nearly crying, and I’m like beet red, and we go outside.
And we’re standing there in the middle of the square, bustling with people, and Jack yells at the top of his lungs “I!!! REALLY!!! LOVE!!! BABIES!!!”
And I’m like “I totally know, dude, babies are great” trying to hustle him to the car and he’s like “Mom, mommy, did you see that baby it was so cute and sweet and soft and I know we can’t have one but I want one and I want to hold it and keep it and it to be my brother or sister and it’s so hard because I just want to touch all babies.”
It’s like a run-on-paragraph of babylove. And I’m like “I know I know I know” trying to strap him into his car seat before he takes off and decides to rub his grubby big kid hands all over this precious babyskin again.
We finally get in the car and we’re like getting ready to take off and he says, “Don’t worry Mommy. I will get you a baby someday.”
And this is why I am now concerned my five year old son is going to kidnap somebody’s infant.
oh my GOD so i was talking to a buddy in psychology and then this kid came in who looked exactly like him and gave him a book he’d forgotten at home
and i went “holy shit you have a twin?!?” and he was like “yeah! his name is jason!” and i was like “????? i thought YOUR name was jason”
long story short i have one of them in my math class and another in my psychology class and i’ve developed a friendship with both of them but i thought they were the same person this entire time
remember this post? not-jason is refusing to tell me his name and everyone’s keeping it from me so i’m just calling him not-jason
so I work at a library now and during training we were shown each section and how they’re organized bluh bluh normal stuff, until we got to the 680s and my boss sighed at this shelf nearly busting from the weight of a shit ton of yarn books. now you may be wondering “how much is a shit ton of yarn books exactly max???” well let’s just say it’s about 2 shelves worth crammed onto one.
so when we got to this area my supervisor looked at us new pages and said in the most serious voice, “if anyone EVER gives you book donations never EVER accept donations of yarn books. EVER.” and we all laughed but deep down in the pit of my stomach I knew that was not a joke.
fast forward to a month later (today) and my shift starts pretty normally, I’m casually chatting with my co worker about video games and sorting books in the workroom when this couple walk into our workroom with big boxes saying they wanted to donate some books. so my coworker nods and says something about just leaving them there and he’ll grab our manager. so they put down these boxes and leave. so my manager comes along exclaiming how nice it is to get such a big donation and so she walks to the boxes, opens them, and starts shouting “JAMES GET IN HERE RIGHT NOW JAMES IT HAPPENED AGAIN” and so now I’m interested and I walk over and it just looks like boxes filled to the brim with books until I see the books all had library stickers on them and all have the numbers 680. so james comes running over and sees them and drops to his knees and starts shaking his head.
so then we got the details. apparently all libraries in my city all have too many yarn books and since you can technically check out a book and return it to any library and they’ll just shelve it there, all libraries just try and get rid of the books by tricking other libraries into taking them in. ways of this happening is staff from one library checking out the maximum amount they can of yarn books and dropping books around another library, or just viciously shoving these books through our returns, and now this, and apparently it’s a full out war with war maps and planning sheets written inside these yarn books. so please for the love of god never donate yarn books to your local library
I want a story about a king whose son is prophesied to kill him so the king is like “whatever what am I supposed to do, kill my own kid wtf is wrong with you” so he just raises him as normal, doesn’t even tell him about the prophecy, and instead of some convoluted twist of events that leads to the king’s murder the son grows up and when the king is very old and dying and in excruciating pain the kid is just like alright I'mma put him out of his misery.
The king’s son becomes the new king, and is prophesied to defeat evil and bring an age of prosperity. His generals and knights all crack their knuckles but he pretty much ignores them and focuses on strengthening the infrastructure of his kingdom. Forty years later he is old and sick but still hearing his subjects’ grievances, and a general’s like “how will you defeat the prophesied evil now? You’re old and weak.” Another visitor, a teenager fresh out of the kingdom’s public education system, looks at the general like he is an ignoramus. The king eradicated poverty, housed the homeless, taught the ignorant, ended class exploitation by abolishing the nobility and imprisoning the corrupt, and established a highly respected guild of doctors that recently figured out how to cure the plague. There are no brigands because there is enough wealth for everyone to live comfortably; hiding in the woods and taking trinkets from people simply doesn’t make any sense for anyone but the desperate, and the people are not desperate. Evil is a weed, explains the teenager. It grows in cracked roads and crumbling houses and forgotten corners, rooted in indifference and watered by suffering. But the king demands that broken things be mended and suffering people be made well.
No evil lives in this kingdom, says the teenager. It starved to death before I was born.
