There's this guy I've seen around. I first met him during orientation. A little forward - a little too forward, which means something coming from me - and cliché in his use of catch-phrases during conversation. You can tell by his mannerisms that he's the type to acquire (that is, by force) popularity. I learned he was part of one of our University's more "elite" colleges. A real go-getter, this one. Also a complete jerk.

Erik (my twin brother) and I hop into an empty, downward-sliding elevator. At the floor immediately below ours, jerk kid and a division of his posse (which consists, ironically, of some other, less odious individuals from the aforementioned orientation) join us. I can deal with this sort of thing; I have seen his serial-killer face (sorry) often enough around campus. Now we're traveling slowly downward. (When I first moved in here, I considered these worn, tired elevators positively breakneck in speed. Like other forms of time-dilation, I've discovered it all depends on your company.) Stop at floor ten. Two additional, female car-mates.

Floor five, one floor above the main floor, which is four. Doors open, the girls exit. As is fairly common, some innocent bystander, standing at the bank on the same floor, inquires as to the direction of the lift (he wants to go up, we're going down). Depending on the car (there are three), you have between two and five seconds to dispense an answer before the doors shut and you're on your way again. In my typical, congenial, stumbling, muttering way, I blurt "down." There's a split-second of processing before I realize jerk-face has said the same word coincidentally, only - and this is evidence of how he wears his jerk badge so arrogantly - he tacks on two absolutely revolting words in his filthy, snake-eyed tone: Sorry buddy.

Before you start thinking, "Wow, cry me a river newb" allow me the opportunity to dissect Sorry buddy. Imagine the words are surrounded by a facial expression similar to the one below. Then, add a vocal sneer and some biting sarcasm. Lastly, make it speedy (the phrase took about a second). This was a deliberate, in-your-face institution of nastiness. The final implications? Sorry buddy, you lose because this elevator is going down, not up. Stay away from me or I'll mace you.

Door closes and jerk-face is quite smug. Out of the elevator and out to the line for the dining hall. God. Of course he's standing right behind us. Past the card-swiper, into the hall. I'm standing in line for sliced potatoes floating in mucous (I'll explain later) with a plate of heel-bunion meatloaf. Once again, God. He's still behind me.

Tray with plate of heel-bunion in hand (I've become quite skilled with the one-handed tray-holding business; I could totally bus tables), I find a seat. Forgot water. Up, out of seat. God, there he is again, at the soda fountain. You bastard. Get out of my way. Go terrorize some first-graders.

I spent the next twenty minutes extemporizing (Erik calls it "whining") on preludes to true jerkdom.

And that was just a petty moron! Imagine how much time I spend smacking around the real jerks. There are so many of them. Criminy. 

Tomorrow, then. 

Next Posting: This morning I stepped into the shower and turned on the water before I realized my pants were still on.