JUST WHEN I THINK I HAVE COLLEGE FIGURED OUT something goes and surprises me. I take night classes, which leaves me with about an hour or so inbetween work and school before my first class starts. I usually spend that hour wandering, and this past Tuesday found me wandering the same main hall. It’s become a hobby of mine to watch the people as they go past and try and figure out what they’re like – super chic, emo, trendy, social, unsocial (did I just walk past a mirror?).

So there I am, minding my own business when I hear music. A guy in a florescent pink shirt was strumming a guitar and playing peacemeal music with his croonies standing nearby. I guess I hadn’t really noticed that nobody else was walking past them, but I had to, my class was that way.

“Hey!! Hey you? Yea, YOU! You wanna hear a new song?” the shaggy-haired, pink-shirted guy called out to me. Not that there was any need for him to shout, seeing as I was only five feet in front of him.

Now don’t get me confused, I may seem over-confident online but in person I’m full of boring lines and awkward pauses. This was one of those moments where I tried to act invisible, tucking my head against my chest and moving forward thinking, Don’t pick me, don’t pick me, please don’t pick me. Shaggy-haired, pink-shirted guy literally ran after me down the hall, jumped in front of me and asked again if I would like to hear his song.

“Sure,” I mumbled. What else was I supposed to do? I needed to go that way and he was blocking my path.

“I’m going to sing you a song,” he paused, strumming his guitar for dramatic effect, “and it’s called, Getting Stoned.” One last strum finished up the intro before he began into a fast-paced tempo. It would have been catchy, had I been able to focus. I was too preoccupied trying to backpedal to clear my personal forcefield. You see, Shaggy-Haired, Pink-Shirted Guy was in the building and he was rocking out – in my face, singing like he was Steven Tyler of Aerosmith in front of crowds of millions, but the only thing he was crowding was my personal bubble.

“Erm, that’s great!” I said, cutting him off mid chord. I wanted desperately to dissapear, sink into the floor, anything to get me away from Shaggy-Haired, Pink-Shirted Guy, his guitar and most imporantly the crowds that had begun to gather and congest the hallway.

“You really liked it?!” He asked. I’m not a good liar at all, so I huffed a quiet “Sure” and walked away as fast as I could. The looks I got continuing down that hall was priceless, and I’m now regretting not getting his autograph and photo with him. That could be my lame clame to fame someday! Reporters would ask me how I met Shaggy-Haired, Pink-Shirted Guy and I’d gush, “well it all began back in college, when he exclusively sang me his hit song about getting stoned. . .”

But seriously, if you are ever in need of entertainment, don’t go to the TV, go to your local community college.

I WAS SITTING IN SURGERY, electrodes strapped to my chest, listening to my strong steady heartbeat and wondering what would come next. What about this would I remember? The tightening elastic tourniquet on my arm where they placed the IV? The vibrant pink safety glasses the assistant was wearing? Would I know where I was when I woke up?

As I though this, I became aware of a painful prick in my arm where the needle was being placed. They put oxygen over my nose, completely covered my face with warm towels and told me I’d just go to sleep. The next thing I knew, I was awake. Groggy, but aware of what was going on around me. The tools had all been cleaned up and hidden, the doctor was gone and there was only a nurse in the room. I glanced to the corner and found my mother sitting there waiting. I smiled at her, remembering back to the time I had my tonsils out and couldn’t keep myself awake. Not this time, I thought to myself. I started feeling the drugs pull me back under and shook myself awake. “Sorry,” I mumbled to the room in general.

I don’t remember being put in the wheelchair.

I hardly remember climbing into mom’s car for the home. I fell asleep after being dropped off at home, and woke up to her giving me my pills. I had a good cry about nothing and drifted off again.

Now I’m awake, and answering questions.

Dustyn’s Questions:

Did you have any wierd thoughts or hallucinations while go under or coming out of your fun time in the chair?
The only thing I remember is the pain of the IV, and the fact that I was sleepy. There was no countdown to 100, no warning, just a sudden blackout. Thankfully it was peaceful, I didn’t wake up mid surgery and I don’t think I had a weird dream. Everything afterwards was kind of slow motion, like I was watching things through a lens. I could hear what people say, hear what I would respond but I couldn’t change anything. It was like life on Replay. Completely weird.
What was your last dream?
One where I was late for a family function because of my mouth not healing. I have odd dreams that I hardly remember.
Most embarrassing moment?
Ever? I have way too many. Just to name one: It was my first day of high school, and I had elected to take German. The classroom was scary, dingy and dark. The teacher was loud, boisterous, and obviously not the type to just leave a scared freshmen alone. He was teaching us our first word, right off the bat: hell.

You see, hell in German means light. To properly pronounce it, you say Hell-ah. He chose me to say it first, and what did I say? You guessed it. HELL. Not light. Hell.
Whats the best part of your job? and the worst?
I like to put the worst first and save the best for last! The worst part is when I’m frustrated and have a mental block when learning something new. The best part of my job is when I hit a goal, or achieve something.

So there you have it, there is my account of the surgery itself, and what was going through my head. Thanks for the questions Dustyn!