If Only . . .

Posted: March 6, 2011 by S. Trevor Swenson in Life
Tags: , ,

I wake up after resetting my alarm clock 4 times and going back to bed. What sadist invented the alarm clock, a device that rouses us from a peaceful and contented place?  I actually have to get up because today I have class. I plod down to Dunkin Donuts for my go juice and my daily inevitable ordering ordeal. The “shift supervisor” on the morning shift has a lazy eye and faces me and looks to my left and then her coffee order dyslexia kicks into high gear.

” May I have a small coffee, with a little milk and two Splenda?” She grabs the little microphone and manages to get every single aspect of the order wrong . . . size, dairy addition and sweetener. “Large coffee with cream and three sugars.” she says into the microphone. I usually just correct her and eventually I get what I ordered. However today I try a new approach. I grab the microphone with my left hand and her head with my right. I press her head to the speaker and announce in a clear loud voice . . . “SMALL coffee, with a LITTLE milk and TWO SPLENDA, you know . . . the same thing I have been ordering for the past SEVEN YEARS!!!!” I get my coffee and take a quick bow as I receive a round of applause from the other Dunkin Donuts morning crowd.

Up the stairs to grab my train. I swipe my metrocard and the turnstile reads “Please swipe again” which I do. “Please swipe again” it repeats. I swipe again and now it reads “Insufficient Fare.” Once again the MTA sticks it to me. I walk over to the station agent’s booth and after waking them up I explain the situation. She slides me a form to fill out and mail into the MTA. I take the form, smiling and stick it down my pants and wipe my sweaty ass with it and then stick it to the outside window of the booth. I wave to the station agent, blow her a kiss and hop the turnstile.

At Queensborough Plaza I change to the number 7 train which is on the upstairs platform. There is a 7 pulling into the station and I would catch it except for the Mexican woman with the 9 kids spread out across the entire staircase walking with the speed of a corpse on valium. I say “Excuse me” and “Permiso” because I have the courtesy to learn a few key phrases in other people’s languages, unlike this woman. I get to the top of the stairs as the 7 train slams its doors in my face. Then I walk over to the woman who made me miss my train. I reach into my backpack and pull out several condoms and shove them in her hand, hoping she will get the hint. I also pull out a Spanish-English dictionary and hit her savagely across the head with it. I close with giving her oldest child (a boy about 13 years old) an atomic wedgie. Then I board a new 7 train and it’s off to school.

Arriving at 33rd St which is the elevated train station closest to my school I am again obstructed by a fellow student walking down the middle of the stairwell and text messaging. I reach over and snatch the cell phone from her hand. I type “She’ll get back to you” to whoever she’d been texting, and then I punt the cell phone across the street where it smashes gloriously. Then I offer the girl a stick of gum, which she doesn’t accept.

I have to go to the financial aid office before class and I always get the same horrible woman with the turd like braids in here hair. Lo and behold she calls my name again and I try . . .oh I try to make this pleasant and painless, but she wont let me. I explain patiently and clearly the purpose of my visit; which is “when will my Pell grant be coming?” She taps a few keys on her computer and says blandly “No”. I stop, count to 10 and then say ” I never asked you a yes or no” question.” She then tells me to “calm down.” So, I calmly reach over her desk and taking her stapler, I staple her shitlocks to her desk and tell her “I’ll be back tomorrow, thanks.”

Off to the math lab where I make 3 tutors cry and urinate on two computers. That’s enough for today. I’m going to go back home and watch The King Of Queens.

Aaahhh . . . If Only

  1. Tallkronan says:

    I feel for you!

  2. […] bad books. It has left me with a flair for the dramatic, and some very odd goals in life. I have written in the past of things I have been dying to say at some point in my life. I visited upon some of […]


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