School is a joy, I say. I've been going to it for most of my
life. I'm going to it currently, too. I go to Harvard College of
Medicine, and have an absolutely terrific time. Plus, my grades
are high below par (I never understood the phrase "Above par"
because in golf, that would be a bad thing). As they are
currently, I would say that I am keeping a consistent score of
woke up this morning ready to embark to my morning classes. I
grabbed my school materials, said goodbye to my parents, checked
out the window to make sure that the Withersons were not up to
their usually Soviet trickery, grabbed my mother's coat (it is
very comfortable, actually, and I believe that I should wear
mother's clothes more often), and headed outside.
only a sophomore, having started when I was partially between the
ages of 25 and 26. I waited several years after my high school
graduation to submit my application. This was because I wanted to
make sure that I had lost the scent of my evil ex-principal, who
was secretly plotting to hijack my application during its fifteen
minute trip from the local post office to the dean of Harvard. He
was then planning on sabotaging my application, forcing me to
stay in high school forever. There, he would force-feed me
bottomless spaghetti and meatball bowls until I cried.
Luckily, his plan did not succeed due in large part to my
knew that I was destined to go to Harvard from a young age. I had
the highest grades in the class, and kept a consistent 4.0 GPA
until my graduation from high school. Also, on my application, I
included the code. You see, Harvard is a college of codes and
patterns, and if you want to get in no matter what, you simply
need to place a series of dots at the bottom of your written
can't tell you the code though, because my friend Kyle (who knows
the President) told me to keep it a secret, even if I was offered
how I got into the prestigious university is beside the point. As
I was saying before, I started to walk to class first thing this
morning. But first, I had to stop by my friend Frank's dorm to
discuss the previous night's assignment.
arrived at Frank's room at about 10:00 in the morning. He opened
the door, said hello, and mentioned something about the new
cologne he had bought. I walked into the room, and sat down
quickly at the edge of his bed, before the clutter that he had
spread throughout proceeded to devour me. The coat that was
sitting in the hamper at the back corner of the room appeared to
be particularly carnivorous.
Frank was a terrific student as well, along with me. Then again,
it was Harvard, so we were expected to be the utmost tip of the
had his computer opened on the desktop beside his bed. He had
Pandora opened up, which he tells me is some sort of online radio
station, but is clearly the base of a secret brainwashing cult
determined to take over the world (or at least the state of South
Dakota). The computer was blasting some song about snow as an
advertisement for iced coffee danced about the screen, taunting
my deep-seeded insecurity regarding warm beverages being turned
into cold beverages.
really believe that you should clean this room," I suggested to
Frank, who was now grabbing a Pepsi out of the mini-fridge that
lies in the center of his closet.
know, I know…" he says begrudgingly, not entirely willing to
accept the burden of manual labor being added to his hectic
schedule, "Do you want a Coke?"
thank you," I say, smiling, "But I would enjoy a Pepsi."
"Listen, you knew what I meant," he said, sticking his tongue out
at me as he grabbed one from the refrigerator. I laughed to
provide a sense of friendliness, despite the fact that I did not
have any clue as to "what he meant."
opened my soda, allowing the small bubbles of fizz to quietly
explode for a second, looking down into the small hole that my
tab had placed into the lid. I enjoy moments like that - moments
when there is nothing to worry about but fizz.
evil ex-principals with noodles and processed meat, no Soviet
spies secretly plotting to destroy all that is good and righteous
in this world, no individually packaged non-fizzy caffeine
beverages. Just fizz.
"Dude," Frank said, sitting down on the bed, rocking his head
erratically back-and-forth to a song in which a man with a
British accent talked about Hillsborough, "So, did you finish
your report yesterday?"
finished my report, yes," I answered, trying to join in his
head-motions while simultaneously attempting to keep a handle on
my drink, "Just not yesterday."
"Dude, how come your alwa-…" he started to say, but before he
could finish his inquiry, the song concluded and the
advertisement about the coffee started again. "Aw, come on!" he
said, with a slight degree of anger in his voice, "I hate this
looked at the computer screen for a second, taking note of the
happy people looking up at the CGI snowflakes that rained from
the sky, telling them to buy the product. "It's a fairly simple
method of brainwashing, I must say. Could they not have tried to
be the least bit original?" I said, taking a large gulp of my
Pepsi, and nonchalantly pinching myself on the back of the hand
to make sure that I was still within my own consciousness, as
opposed to that of the snowflake.
"Yeah, Dude… You're dead on with that one." He stood up and
looked out the window. "It should snow here, you know? It's
Poor Frank. He's
already been infected.
If he didn't
already have a Pepsi, I would offer to grab him another. The fizz
might work wonders for him.