Eight and a half hours of observation

Intro

Pippin is open this summer for summer camps such as math and science programs, Brazilian executives that come every summer and “learn the ways of America” (because face it Brazil is hot and aint as cool as us), and for students that bought a meal plan for the summer. I am Pippin’s gatekeeper on Tuesdays and Thursdays juggling all 400 people, running the convenience store, and getting everything ready for breakfast and lunch. The following is a collection of observations within eight hours of sitting (and occasionally stretching, dancing, and daydreaming).

UCI Squirrel

Dolphins (which are my favorite animal) can play with beach balls, swim through hoops, or bludgeon their trainers to death (whom they probably thought was a beach ball or a hoop), but who gives a damn?! These are useless skills in the wild! They don’t get fish everytime they score with a puffer fish inside a circular rock formation.

There’s a notorious squirrel thief that runs into Pippin only to grab a candy bar and run off outside. It doesn’t want nuts. It doesn’t eat leftover pizza like stupid crows. It goes for the big kahuna. She is the smartest animal that takes what she wants and when she wants it. How does it know there’s food inside the shiny wrapper?

How does it methodically plan entry and escape? Those tasks require higher brain centers to achieve. Darwin never expected this shit.

Here she is waiting for me to open.

Cosmos

There’s a much older group from high school called COSMOS which stands for math and science for 4 weeks or “please help my mother locked me up in UCI when I should be watching Spongebob”. A lot of them are amazed at the selection of gum and food the convenience store has to offer. Which makes you wonder since they don’t allow gum in some high schools, does it affect them in a way that makes them want it more? Honestly I could run a stat plot and find a very strong inverse correlation within age and number of packets of gum bought. When parents tell their boys not to dress up like mommy, does it make them more likely to do it in the future because it’s forbidden? I know that as a child I was told not to drink all the gravy because it must be used for mashed potatoes. So when everyone was caught up in conversation, guess what I did. There’s also a tougher druggie looking guy around fifteen or sixteen who cornered me with his other friends to buy a five bar energy shot. I’m guessing they had finals the next day and must pull an all nighter.

Five minutes went by like crazed college students trying marijuana for the first time.

“Okay guys how many are we buying?” the alpha male said.

“Oh my god I can’t believe we’re doing this!” someone screamed in delight.

“Let’s buy two and split it” said the second in command.

“We have to hide when we drink it!” said another guy.

“This is just like coffee right?” asked the alpha.

“I’m not actually sure you guys should be drinking this at your age.” I said.

“My mom never lets me have this stuff!” a lesser minion gave up in defeat

“We’ll take two” said the second.

I looked at the brooding alpha and from one to another, we formed a tacit understanding. He needed it to keep order in his constituency. I let him buy it knowing that some day it’ll stop his curiosity to buy bad things for him like a father letting the taste of hops discourage a child from drinking.

The Brazilian Executives

When I heard that 50 Brazilian executives that consisted of Brazil’s elite will be living in a dorm called Crickhollow in Middle Earth, it was definitely time to “slut it up”. I wish some gorgeous, cultured, intelligent, Rafael Monteiro looking guy could sweep me off my feet to live with him in Brazil. Or at least some Brazilian druglord who will feel sorry for me for working at the residential commons (I’ll hide the fact that I’m a supervisor) and detects my intellect to recruit me in his operations.

But to my detriment, I’ve never seen more fat and hairy guys clumped up together on campus. They were however extremely nice and always asked me about my day or how do I like working here. I retract my first statement above. I’d rather stay poor and meet my soulmate than be a whore. But as I said they were extremely nice and fatherly. The balance however was astounding. The women were so strong, tall, and beautiful. They looked like they prayed on young studs (like myself) that I almost wished I was straight then the above statement would’ve been realized. All of them were either naturally made up and spoke in a commanding tone I almost scrunched down on all fours waiting to get slapped. They weren’t in the ranks of Adriana Lima, but maybe like Jodie Foster, Meryl Streep, or in the case of a younger woman like Cameron Diaz.

Untitled

I’m tired of poems. They speak of what could be, what can be, what was, and yearning.

He became my new center. The world stayed spinning, but its axis was shifted to him. His stance was different from every other stance. Hair tousled and bounced differently from everyone else. His cheap jeans could be priced astronomically and I would still buy them for him.

I felt intense energy. I felt like jumping in the sky to claim a galaxy so we can live in it. I walked till dawn around campus one day to try to get rid these feelings. I have these often, but they get harder and harder to come by. Each dose of dopamine from the last guy subsequently increases. What if I reach my threshold? What if I never fall again?

I want him. I want all of him even the bad sides to the story. Anything he liked I automatically did.

There’s an intense craving I need to shake off because I’ve been told they will lead to nowhere… But I hate dreaming, action must be taken.

Tiny Children

There’s a group living in the dorms. Children of the GSA. The acronym sounds misleading however these are the Gifted Students of America, not the Gay Straight Alliance. I thought of a business idea, what happens to gays that turned straight from religious straight camps? If we get a hold of them, we can teach them how to fag it up again and give booster shots in the future. That’s another story. Once there was this little girl holding a banana talking to an imaginary Mexican. She was telling Pedro to “pack [my] suitcase because [I’m] going to Japan honey”. Where does a child of six or seven get such an attitude? Blame the parents, it’s probably them.

There was a little kid who looked like him, a mini-him. Perfectly proportional and compatible in every feature. A shot of electricity went from my gut to the side of my ears. Wouldn’t it be nice if I hired a pussy and made kids that looked exactly like him? We’d have a modern family with a vibrating dildo chandelier instead of a white picket fence. We’d grow old and watch our children play. We’d teach them what to love, what to hate, how to live a fruitful life, and when they’re gone it’ll be the two of us again. I’d like that too.