Excuse me?

Rambling fool

By Benjamin Jarvela

Posted on Sept. 21, 2006, at 12:00 a.m.

I’ve been doing this for awhile now, and if trying to come up with something interesting has taught me anything, it’s that most of the best stuff out there comes when you least expect it. As a result, I usually walk around in public with one ear open, picking up tidbits of whatever from the most random of sources. As often as not, this leads me to some great issue or idea, so it’s worth doing. Occasionally, though, it tends to lend itself to the extremely weird. I’m not lurking around corners, eavesdropping on hot chicks – anything you hear to the contrary is a filthy lie – so I tend to get little snippets of conversations and it’s up to me to make sense of whatever just flew at me.

So far, this has made the past few weeks of my life some of the weirdest ever. It might just be a sense of impeccable – or unfortunate – timing on my part, but since things have cranked back up for the fall, I’ve been party to some of the strangest things I’ve ever heard uttered.

For a benign example, I turn to a time I was sitting in a 100-level you-have-to-take-this-to-graduate-or-else class. Digging through my bag before the class started on its first day, I had no choice but to hear the loud, animated conversation taking place behind me.

“This is my third time in this class. If I fail it AGAIN, I think I’m going to have to change majors.”

I did what any rational person would do in this situation. I got up, went to the bathroom, and laughed until I collapsed.

For the slightly more “I-must-have-missed-something” side of things, we can turn to the something overheard in the Union by the smoothie stand:

“Dude, I swear she had a penis.”

I don’t want to know, I don’t want to know, I don’t want to know.

“I want to be a [expletive deleted] witch doctor!”

I did some checking. Apparently, UMaine actually offers this as a degree program. They call it economics.

“My first gynecologist was a man; I wasn’t comfortable. I switched doctors. I think this one is a lesbian, but I don’t mind.”

We need to talk.

“I only like really talented artists, like Britney Spears and that guy she married.”

What’s worse – liking Kevin Federline or liking him and not knowing his name? I did the only thing I was permitted by law to do. I couldn’t slap the girl who said it, so I slapped the guy she was with for bringing her out in public. Then I tied them both to chairs and forced them to listen to 17 hours of Led Zeppelin IV. And three hours of Beatles albums, just for good measure. Honestly, that guy’s idea of lyrics is “I’m not your brother, I’m not your uncle, I’m Daddy do.” Someone should track him down and do the same.

“As long as Amanda or Hillary don’t find out about Jen, I’m straight. What can go wrong?”

I know who you are. If you can get that to work, please tell me how.

“I totally got an ‘A’ in Women’s Lit last year.”

“Gangsta!”

It took these two a second to figure out that the thumping noise was me slamming my head into a nearby door.

“There is nothing gay about two men having sex with each other!”

What’s worse, these two were arguing about it.

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