White Winter Hymnal

I suppose it's not exactly something about which I should be surprised. Fridays tend to be strange days for me, and yesterday was no exception.

Like usual, I was running late for class. No big deal, except I had to deliver a speech over an article I found in some sort of periodical. Hmm. What half-assed, bullshit college scheme could I concoct to remedy this situation? There wasn't much to do other than grab the day's copy of Kansas City's Ink and thumb around for a relevant subject. I decided to speak over the cover story, which was about local couples' choices of marriage locations, and how they were moving from the chapel to some strange places. Strange, but cool nonetheless. Class was short, but I was okay with that. I had things to do that day.

It was bitterly cold, the kind of cold that stung your face and made your nose run if you were the unfortunate soul that had to trek back to your car facing the wind. I had some time to kill, so I headed downtown like I always do when I'm just out driving. I love the view from 169 South, the city looks so inviting. I noticed a car behind me, and it looked oddly familiar. I thought it was my old boss from a recent job, but I wasn't too sure. I knew she went to school by downtown, so it would make sense with her being there, but I didn't give it much more thought. Having been sick, I haven't smoked much, but with me feeling better, I can't not do so. Driving into the garment district, I lit up as I passed loft after loft, chic office buildings and classic SoHo inspired restaurants and clubs. I made my way past the convention center with it's Hiltons and Marriots on my way into the Crossroads district, where I knew many a comfy hideout amongst the city's bohemian artists and humble hippies. After a coffee fix and a short read, I started South for a scheduled lunch with a guy that either could or could not have been an interest. Either way, I was looking forward to it. Minutes before I left, it began to snow.

Why did it have to snow. Really? After the five blizzards we've endured since December, you think the allotted snowfall would've previously been depleted. But this is the Midwest. Anything goes as far as the weather's concerned. I made my way out of the city and onto the freeway into the Kingdom of Suburbia otherwise known as Johnson County. I can't stand the place, with it's unoriginal strip malls and cookie-cutter vinyl-clad subdivisions with meant-to-be inspirational polished bronze names tacked onto brick walls at the appropriately-placed entrances. No, this is not Rolling Meadows. This is Crumbling Sheetrock, and you're not fooling anyone. Anyhow, I digress. Now, I had heard oh-so-much from the aforementioned guy about this place to which I was headed, about how comfortable it was and how delightful the food is, so I had high expectations as I drove through the drifting powder further South passing ever-increasing numbered streets and one annexed shopping center after another, making excellent time.

Five to noon, early but acceptable. Yes, I was late to school. Whatever, my own accord. But dammit, if there's one thing I can't stand about appointments, it's being late to them. I call to check up, no answer. I wait, call to check up again, no answer. Before I get flustered, I text. I wait. I wait more. I smoke. No response. I let it go and I start driving. Despite their efforts, people do arrive late, and I make room for such exceptions. I tour the three-story apartments behind the conveniently-placed strip mall that this "cafè" was stacked into. I arrive nearly ten after twelve once more, and I try to call one final time, and still, no answer. Before I go berserk, I try to dispel any possibility. Left his phone in the car? Sure. I go inside and have a look around. No show. I'm not gonna be some pathetic loser who waits and longs for someone who doesn't give a rat's ass about showing, so eh. Fuck it.

Call to Jeremy Todd:
Me: "Hey. I got stood up. Wanna grab a bite to eat?"
Him: "Huh?"
Me: "I'm not repeating it. I'm coming over."
Him: "Okay. What are we doing again?"
Me: "Food."
Him: "Broke."
Me: "McDonalds. Be a cheap date and order from the dollar menu."
Him: "Cool. I'm feelin' Taco Bell instead."
Me: "Whatever. I'll be there in five. Be ready."
Him: "Cool."

What did I think? It was shit, Jeremy. It was a dick thing to do and I was unimpressed and slightly offended. I hate spending more time in suburban exodus than I absolutely have to. Taco Bell's still cheap. Some things outlast this economy, I suppose. I'm thankful that shitty fauxican food is doing just that. When I'm with him, I question things in myself. Maybe he keeps my morals and self-preservationist ideas in check. Maybe I'm a sounding board for him. He's one of my persons. You know, a person. That person. He's one of them. And I'm thankful. We leave to go on what he calls a mall crawl, a walk around the mall with no retail-related intentions whatsoever. In my retail rat days, we called them malkers. Mall walkers smashed together. Usually, they were old people with no surviving relatives, no prevailing hobbies, and no shame for whatever they were wearing. In our case, we were former idealists and current pessimists with no goal in mind but to kill time and talk shit. Essentially, college students.

After dropping him off, I head back North, admiring the downtown view from the freeway loop like I usually do. This time, I'm bound to pick up Kaci and Chelsie. I'm not in the greatest mood. In fact, when stupid shit happens, I just revert to the sour-faced sarcastic bitter 90's kid I was raised to be. Fast food, trivial insults, and back downtown for a movie that we ended up not seeing, the night was setting in fast. Back North to a larger theater where spoiled Northland kids decked in Hollister whorefits from head to toe ran amuck while their burnt out career-obsessed hardly-involved possible alcoholic parents lazed about their California split-level homes worrying about shit they don't need. Sherlock Holmes is an awesome movie.

The snow kept falling, like God was itching his ever-aging head a' hair and the flakes of dandruff were piling all around us. Let's go get Kaci's boyfraan, but first, let's drop off Chelsie to an empty high school parking lot in the snow. Kaci turns into a righteous bitch when she's tired, and it just pisses me off. But I've learned to live with it. Drummond, Sparkman, let's go. We've got shit to do. Not really. But it's fun to pretend. We drop off Kaci so she can pass out accordingly, and it's off to downtown once more. Three times in one day, not anything out of the usual. We spent about four hours there, meeting random strangers and becoming friends. I played piano and sang to get the day's frustrations out, and driving home, I felt alot better. Basically, shit happens. Whatever. People are gonna screw you over, but don't let it get you down or whatever the writers from Chicken Soup for the Emo Sadomasochistic's Soul write. Your friends will be there. Don't let things cloud your vision. And in the face of near total misanthropy, anything can be solved with a soy vanilla latte.