New and improved

My blog now accepts anonymous comments. Having to make an account to comment is pretty sponchtastic.

The sketchiness continues

This address is linking to my site. Except it's some Pittsburgh password protected thing. Anyone care to explain?

http://www.pittsburgh-ultimate.org/phpBB2/viewtopic.php3?t=7860

So this is what all the hype is about

“Wildwood,” in ultimate vernacular refers to a beach ultimate tournament held every July on the South Jersey shore. The rules are slightly changed, in that there are only four players on at once, an endzone-to-endzone huck is considered two points and the stall count only goes to six. Also, the fields are significantly smaller, though probably still more than half of a regulation field.

Either way, Wildwood in Jersey vernacular refers to the whole place itself - a greasy armpit of the East Coast where culture goes to die. The one thing it has going for it is the beach, which is fairly nice (though by no means the best beach I have been to). Either way, I attended this year, and I must say that this tournament did not live up to all the hype.

Fun was to be had, though. On the drive down, we needed some batteries and other assorted miscellany, so we stopped at a Target in Arundel Mills. I always chuckle to myself at that town name - I think it’s because Arundel reminds me of the word “grundle.” While in the Target, Gigabyte and I decided to try and look for the Oozinator, a product previously referenced on this site. Not only did they have this fine product, but they had it half-off, with refill cartridges. This Super-Soaker-looking deal does not shoot only water, but also has a second nozzle that hurls globs of “ooze” onto unsuspecting targets.

And hurl ooze we did. The best part about this product (aside from the commercial where it looks like kids are getting facials) is that everyone had basically the same reaction:

1) Realization that liquid assault via watergun was imminent
2) Acceptance that they were about to get wet and maybe somewhat irritated
3) The act itself
4) Relief that that said act is over
5) Surprise at consistency of “water”
6) Realization that the substance is more similar to cum than to water
7) Anger and disgust at what seems like a run-by jizzing
8) Asking angrily “What the fuck is that, [insert synonym for “semen” here]?”

Just classic really. Tweak exclaimed “Awww, man it’s in my ear!” Bert’s reaction was pretty spectacular too, but I don’t remember any specific quotes. There are pictures, though. Here they are:

The best was when Tim’s little brother, Wylie, grabbed Gigabyte’s gun and shot Ed with it, which prompted a swift tackling.

Sadly, that was the most fun of the weekend. Our team went 0-6 in the non-competitive division. Beach ultimate is not worthy of the association with real ultimate. I didn’t have a ton of fun playing, though I liked the people on my team. I especially had no fun when we were losing like 20-3 to some team of young-guns from Philly. There’s a kid on their team who will be playing for Pitt next year. He’s really good, and a nice guy. But his brother was a complete douche, and at one point (when they were already up by at least a dozen), threw a disc through my legs and ended up punching me in the nuts in the process. Instead of apologizing or helping me at all while I was clutching my business, he said “You can call foul if you want to.” The younger kid, Eddie, approached me after I left the field, asked how I was, agreed that what happened was totally inappropriate, and we had a good talk. Very mature for an incoming freshman - I was definitely impressed with this kid in many ways. I wish him the best of luck.

What a fucking derf his brother was, though… I don’t know many players (especially male players) who wouldn’t feel really bad about nailing someone else in the what-have-yous. Later on, a disc from our field rolled onto theirs while they were playing someone else, and literally landed within a yard of Douchie McGee’s feet. He looked down, looked back up and just stood there. I made some disgusted gesture and chuckled while I looked at where the disc had landed. The younger brother made eye contact with me, looked horribly embarrassed, hurried to pick up the disc and flipped it to one of the players on our sideline. Further proof that attitude isn’t genetic.

I suppose the third thing worth talking about in reference to my Wildwood experience was the trash. No, I don’t mean candy wrappers and soda cups… I mean the people who were there. Granted, there were quite a few EXTREMELY attractive people to be seen on the Boardwalk, but damn… this place was on par with any of the places I went in the Midwest. I even overheard one conversation, as we were passing a shoddy internet café, between two high-schoolers that made me wretch and laugh uncontrollably at the same time. One kid said to the other “Yo, we should go up there and check MySpace.” Astounding.

That and on a tipsy-walk down the Boardwalk on Friday night, there were these guys who were just sitting on the benches and spouting off pick-up lines to girls who were passing. Just things like “Hey ladies, where ya goin’?” and “Hey beautiful,” and other such ridiculous things. Those stupid fucks, you’ve gotta try harder than that - I told them so too (my tongue having been loosened by starka). We also found out that the dunk-tank that used to be there a few years ago had been removed. Basically, there was a guy who would sit in the dunk tank and say horrendously insulting things to people as they walked by, and then they would pay to try and dunk his ass. Either way, a cop told us that it had to be removed because it started too many fights. With the type of people I saw, I am not surprised that physical violence was prevalent enough to warrant the closure of the dunk-tank.

On the beach there were just so many people who clearly don’t own mirrors and clearly don’t bathe often enough to realize that their bodies inspire seizures in passers-by without proper covering. I never want to see another set of fuckin’ old people meatflaps ever again. That woman in the tiger-stripe bathing suit was quite enough, thank you. Not only that but everyone had ridiculous tattoos. And there were people pushing around baby carriages who I hoped against hope were taking care of their little brothers and/or sisters… Then there were packs of Goths too, which really made me wish I had a two-by-four.

It was a worthwhile experience, but I just didn’t have as much fun as everyone told me I would have. The Pitt guys, for the most part, weren’t there, and that’s probably was for the better - resisting the temptation to get drunk and unleash Ooze barrages would have been nearly uncontrollable. I also hate sand much more now. I never want to have to deal with that much sand all up in my stuff ever again. It’s true what they say, once you get it into something, you can’t get it out. Good thing my sister’s getting my car the next time I go home…

I pulled a "George"

Today I took a 30-minute nap beneath my desk because I had no work to do, and my supervisor was nowhere to be found. Bow down before me, office mewkies, for I am thine king. Sleeping at work is like the senior seminar of office jobbery. You start down at "What is this place: Intro to Office 001," with discussions in "Using All Those Buttons: An Office Telephone," moving on through "Work Avoidance Methods," taking some 100-levels -- "Seat Cushions and Flybys: Surviving the Work Poop," "Work Prolonging Methods," "Timesheet Fudgery," and even maybe "Stealing Office Supplies for Fun and Profit." But sleeping at work? And getting paid? That's some advanced study. Something to aspire to, kids. It only took me 5 years of working in offices, but one day you too can live the American dream.

Well, the evening began at the gentleman's club where we were discussing Wittgenstein over a game of backgammon.

To start, any rumors you may have heard are true. I did indeed down 21+ drinks on my 21st birthday. This is widely accepted fact, verified by everyone who was at the party - if you don't believe me I can provide references. I'm mostly going to copy an email I wrote to the listserv, with some changes added in based on new sources.

Things started out at the hippy restaurant Tufsky recommended. Before I even got my food, I was offered a mango rum mojito (1), compliments of the restaurant. To be honest, I was not particularly thrilled that my first drink of the night was going to be the gayest drink you could possibly make, but it was free, so who was I to say no. Dinner went off well, despite a bozo parade of hippies who were also dining there.

On the way out, Tim bought me a shot of Grand Marnier (2) which was actually pretty good. We arrived at the Russia House, despite Premie's failed attempt to prove his geographic prowess. I've had my heart set on going to this place from the moment I decided to start drinking at 21, so I was thrilled to be there, especially when I realized how many people came out. The place is a two-room lounge, rumoured in the GW Slavic department to be run by the Russian Mob. This, of course, only added to the allure of going there.

I met one of the owners of the bar and jawed with him for a while about Lithuania/Russia/etc., and the resident lush also introduced himself to me. Think Barney Gumble at age 60. The owner gave me my first shot of starka (3) on the house. Now, I'm sorry if I don't recognize everyone who bought me drinks, but I remember some things and forget others so forgive me. Next up was something called "balsam" (4) that the owner wanted me to try (also on the house). A problem then began to present itself: I had no idea what I wanted to drink. So I told people to ask the bartender/owner for recommendations and then bring that shit over. Next up was something Ukranian and red (5), though I can't remember the exact name, or who bought it for me. I originally thought it was Alicia, but the more I think about it, Jenee was one of the first people to buy me something, so it was probably her. Either way... next was a kiwi-raspberry flavored shot of something (6) with Jenn and Tufsky. This was the best drink I had all night, taste-wise.

If the preceding events were the island-hopping campaign on the way to conquering my sobriety, this next drink was the fucking A-bomb that turned my bustling city of pleasent tipsiness into a smoking crater of flat-out drunkitude. Lindsey, Mae, and Alicia (I think) chipped in and bought me a martini glass filled with vodka (7, 8, 9). The bartender just took two bottles of vodka and poured some of each into the glass. Next up was introducing my friends to starka, a Polish-Lithuanian drink that I had when I was in Vilnius. This had to be done because starka is delicious. I definitely had one shot (10) of it with Brody and one with Topshelf (11). I also remember my cousin calling me twice because she was concerned about my safety or something. Both Brody and Andy talked to her at some point -- weird. I drank some more things (12, 13, 14, 15), but quite honestly, I can't remember what they were. I remember drinking my 16th drink, but...

...this is when my memory changes from a regular episode of "The Life of David Stira" into a horribly disjointed and embarassing clip show (16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, ?).

Now, I'm describing the end of the night based on details provided by others because I definitely remember very little. I will, of course, note what I do remember. Some things I do remember include walking somewhere with Jenee and JB helping me along. That I really appreciate, because I know how unwieldy drunk people are (ahem... Lyle). Also, I hear Linc was a trooper in helping me along, despite the fact that I called him an asshole... over, and over, and over again. That I don't remember, but also don't doubt.

We went to the Froggy Bottom Pub, a local hangout that seems to have a part in pretty much every weekend drinking session around here. Enroute, I apparently peed on the Starbucks at 22nd and K with the help of Jack and Linc. I, however, have no recollection of even leaving the Russian bar. I have been told that I was "holding court" with a whole lot of people at Froggy, so I guess that's good, except that I have no idea what I decided to talk about. I'd like to know eventually, I suppose. I do, however, distinctly remember the split second where I thought it would be appropriate to slam my head on the table reallllyyy hard. I also can still feel that when I push on my forehead. Later on I was also shown a video in which Bert says how he was "an amorphous blob" by the time he reached the number of shots that I had reached, and that I should be proud that I was still awake and speaking. With a completely straight face, I look him in the eye and say "You know, Bert... that's why I'm better than you." I understand there are more videos, but I don't want to see them.

Beyond that, I remember waking up on the floor of Pete and Jack's room without any clothes on, and being quite cold and bewildered. Then I remember going into my room and being even more bewildered by the fact that there were no sheets on my bed. I immediately jumped to the conclusion that I had peed in my bed.

Turns out, I actually had peed (only a little) on the floor of Jack and Pete's room. This has been described by one member of g-dub ultimate as "the greatest thing [I] could have ever done." There were no sheets on my bed because apparently I booted in my bed. Further intelligence also indicates that I booted in Jack's bed. Of everything that I was later apprised of, this is probably the most embarassing. I'm sure everyone can think of lots of embarassing things that I said (know why I never drank before). Even so, I regret befouling my roommates' room most of all because they did so much to help me post-blitz. On the other hand, someone pointed out that they were the ones egging me on to begin with, so they deserved it. I can see the point, but I'm still really embarassed, and I still don't think anyone deserved that.

The next morning, upon waking up, I was still quite drunk and remained so until around 4:00 or 4:30 in the afternoon. I woke up in clothes that I never wear, because after dragging my naked ass into bed, I woke up cold and put on whatever I could find to stay warm because I had no blankets. I was informed of various things throughout the morning, including the fact that I had reached 21 shots. I'm not going to say "Thanks a lot everyone for getting me to 21 shots," because I really didn't want to boot. Especially not in my bed, and ESPECIALLY not in Jack's bed. I also understand that I was speaking exclusively Russian for basically my last two hours of consciousness. That's cool - I approve.

Either way, I know a lot of people helped me around, and to all of you I say, I appreciate it, and you won't have to do such things again anytime soon. I like being the guy who helps much more than the drunken asshole being helped. And if anyone wants to fill in the holes for me, I would be much obliged.

Here are some quotes that I feel are germane to the topic of my first evening of "fantabulous drunkitude" (credit to @-ron on that phrase - Ivory Tower 704 for life).

"The best was when we asked you to speak in English and you said "Ok" and then went back to Russian, or Uzbek, who knows." --Jack

"Way to not do anything half ass. I guess if you are gonna go for it, you should go for it. Sweet purple shirt." --Ben Faust (reacting the next day)

"House, sorry about being the asshole who bought you those shots... and made you finish drink 21. My bad." --Bert, to whom I owe a kick in the balls.

"You're a heavy dude." --Jack, on having to move me around

"I'm having too much fun, this sucks..." --Me

"I'm sorry you got sick, but I think it would be a shame if the David Stira that I got to hang out with last night goes away for ever." --Brody

Thanks everyone - I just got back from buying new sheets/a pillow from Target. So if that was your goal, you've succeeded.

Birthday!

I'm 21 now, bitches! The question is, what kind of drunk will I be? Dave Codrea break-sliding-doors-with-bricks drunk? Jack Gaynor punch-walls-and-blame-it-on-Scruffy drunk? Premie evasive maneuvers drunk? Boshanks laugh-at-everything-and-be-generally-goofy drunk? Sean McComb blog like a champion drunk? Only time will tell. But for now, I'm legal.

I'm going on record right now, saying that beer is gross and I do not intend to drink it regularly ever. Beer is, of course, the nectar of the nitwit. Also, keep in mind that if it's not Slavic, it's not vodka, so don't put it anywhere near me. Давай выпьем!!

I hate my work thhiiiisss much...

The law firm I work at employs more than 250 people. Ironically, however, I never have enough to do. I spent the past two weeks labeling literally hundreds upon hundreds of folders with colored doctors-office-style labels. Not only that, but finding ways to waste time so that I can honsetly put down my hours.

Here is a short list of things that I use to pass the time:

1) Sudokus and crosswords.
I'm not going to act like I'm good at Sudoku. I straight up suck at it. To be honest, it's one of those things in life that just makes you feel dumb for having even tried. Kind of like when I play basketball... it actually makes me feel less athletic. So I pore over those for an hour or so. Crosswords make up for it though, because I am a crossword fiend. I hear Mike Mussina is as well [cue "The More You Know... logo]. Anyhow, doing crosswords makes me feel smart again, after taking an exorbitantly long time to finish a Sudoku. I think the best one I can remember was the other day when the clue was "Composer's liquor amount" and the answer was "Beethovens Fifth." Now that's clever.

2) Office supplies
We have some pretty awesome pens. Actually, they suck because they smear really really easily. But they're obviously really expensive, so swiping must therefore necessarily occur. I've got a pretty good stash going. Office supplies provide other forms of amusement, too. Like when you have a pile of rubber bands and a revolving chair. Combined with quick hands, you can turn yourself into a semi-automatic rubber band cannon. It's true - just pile up the rubber bands on your desk, spin around, grab a band, load it onto your finger and fire, then keep spinning, grab another, and so on. I managed to cover my coworker's desk with rubber bands one day, and since no one ever walks anywhere near my office, no one caught me acting like one of the ritalin-deprived three-year-old hellians I am forced to weave around while grocery shopping.

3) Eating!
My facebook profile lists one of my interests as food, and I am definitely not kidding. I love food. If I didn't do sports and if my genetics were different, I could easily be 250. I've been better this summer for the most part, given I can lift again and I want to consume as many protein-laden foods as possible. At work, though, eating is one of the few things that keeps me awake. A bag of Malt-O-Meal cereal (nothing says generic like Malt-O-Meal!), some 25-cent waters and/or sodas, free hot chocolate - it's all good. And it keeps me from passing out headfirst into my keyboard.

4) Random shit on the internet
Given that most sites are firewalled, I find myself looking at ridiculously boring things just to keep busy. We have access to a currency converter. I can tell you the USD/Russian Ruble exchange rate has been relatively stable at around 27r/$ for the past month or so. I can also tell you the exact amount in my checking account (we have access to Wachovia - praise Jesus!). But I won't because that would just be embarassing (fuck you Winston House - I don't pay $XXX to wake up to your garbage trucks every Saturday morning at 7:30).

5) Cate
Cate is a former coworker from the CLLC. She works at a company that transcribes depositions and such. We've had some good conversations via work-email, especially about "which" vs. "that," grammar pet-peeves, former CLLC coworkers, the ridiculous crap that is said in her transcripts, and the funny nicknames I give people at work. Not only that but she gives me answers for stupid literature-related crossword clues, since I have no clue about any of that.

6) Doing the nerdiest, pointless shit you could ever think of
For example, this morning I got a street map from the MC Concierge desk. I then endeavored to think of all 50 states in the Union. I confused myself by starting an alphabetical list, then switching over to just what I could remember. I thought I had written down Arizona and Alaska, but I definitely missed them the first time through. Sorry dudes. After that though, I needed to find each of the state avenues on the D.C. map. Needless to say I couldn't because the map sucked, but at least it ate up time. And I learned that Florida, New York, and New Jersey all intersect near my friend's house. What a shitshow! Another pointless activity I engaged in was fooling with the air conditioner vents. They're a bunch of little square plates resting in a bevel on top of the unit. They all point into the room, but clearly such uniformity is unacceptable. So I rotated each one 90 degress, all the way down the line so our a/c unit has a nicely creepy Martha Stewart-meets-fengshui-meets-obsessive-compulsive look to it.

I'm sure all of this will cease to amuse me at some point, so I'll definitely have another post detailing my pointless, utterly pointless day.

Furthermore, I'm buying one of these. Just try and stop me. I'll be the coolest kid on the block.

Everybody's doing it...

Here are some videos that Gigabyte showed to me a while ago. Fat people never cease to amaze me...




...and neither does horribly horribly wrong toy advertising.

Who but Tufsky...

Here's a play that happened at Easterns 2006 in Wilmington, NC. An interesting play. While I really don't think it's a dirty play, I will say that I am 80% sure I would not have gone for this D.

God bless the internet

As many of you know, my law firm does not allow its employees to have access to the internet at work. It's really pretty maddening, especially when my employers run out of things for me to do and take two days to find something new. I can't just dick around on the internet, oh no... they want me to stare at the wall or distract my coworkers with idle chatter and decrease THEIR productivity.

That aside, as much as I hate their policies, it makes great business sense. With unfettered access to the internet, we all know how easy it is to procrastinate. The government, employer of too many idiots to count, has at least taken some steps to remedy this by getting rid of Minesweeper and all those Windows games from their computers. Makes sense to me. But what they really should do is cut off all internet access except for a few necessary sites, like my job does. Granted, legislative assistants and such need to have access to the internet to research issues important to their congresspeople and constituents. But government is wasteful enough, and this Post article estimates that the average government worker wastes 100 hours per year futzing on the internet.

Take the approximately 2 million federal employees, multiply that by the 100 hours of wasted time -- that's 200 million hours of manpower -- and then multiply by... let's say $12/hr. I think that's a pretty conservative estimate. That's 2.4 billion dollars taxpayers are paying federal workers to look up ceramic cats on eBay, play Family Feud online, or what have you. Take 160 million American taxpayers, and that's $15 per taxpayer. Take that $15, buy some stuff, and you got yourself a stew goin'!

Another estimate can be gained by using the salary rate at which advances stop being competitive (source: a friend of mine who works in the Bureau of Labor Statistics), which is $75,000 annually. Assume people work 40 hours a week for 52 weeks. That's $36/hr. That's 7.2 billion dollars, or $45 per taxpayer. Now that's a mug you don't want to chug. Oh no.

The funny thing is that this waste may not be the most alarming part of this article. The Congressman who led the charge against employees wasting time playing Minesweeper "said he has never used a computer." A Congressman. Who has never used a computer. Astounding. Representative government? How representative is a Congressman who has never used the internet??? A staple of life for the last 5-10 YEARS!! This is not a Parliament of Whores or a Confederacy of Dunces, it's a geruntocracy. Too many goddamned old people.

"If employees are playing computer games in the office in large numbers, that's a management problem, which needs to be attacked by managers assigning work and checking to make sure it is done," said Constance Horner, who worked in the Reagan and Bush administrations. What planet is old Connie on? It is damned near impossible to fire a federal employee. The friend I cited earlier, the one who works in the Bureau of Labor Statistics, said that after three years of working for the government, it is essentially impossible to get fired. How can you attack a management problem if your workers have no incentive to perform? The federal government increases pay based on time served, as is my understanding (again, same source), so why bother working hard if all you have to do is show up? The only real incentive to perform is the threat of losing your livelihood, your health insurance, etc., if it turns out you suck at what you do. People don't need their jobs for workin' or for driving to, as some would have us believe. They need it because they need to pay for shit.

As much as it's a pain in the ass for me, as an employee of a company that restricts internet usage, it's a damned good way to increase productivity. I think the federal government should firewall the internet wherever possible. One guy from the National Academy of Public Administration said that "the real issue is, is the employee producing? Are the taxpayers getting their money's worth? Not what each person is doing minute by minute." How the hell does that make any sense? If the taxpayers are getting their moneys worth with x number of employees wasting y number of hours on the internet, you can afford to fire a bunch of them because the other ones clearly don't have enough work to do. Too bad you can't fire federal employees.

This just has to be one of the reasons we're getting outpaced by other countries. The American worker has gotten complacent and lazy, and management, at least it seems on the federal level, is failing to remedy these problems. It may suck not to have internet, but you sure as hell get a lot more work done, I can tell you from personal experience...

So many bozos...

I'm not sure I can make any comments that will make this article about nuclear clowns funnier.

Also... the following story is not made up. My two friends who live in Claridge House recently invested in a Sea Monkey kit. Firstly, Gigabyte put in the Sea Monkeys a full 19 hours before he was supposed to, because the water purification tab needs a certain number of hours to work properly. Few, if any, Sea Monkeys survived, but I think some might have. A couple of nights ago, when Fearless (another ultimate teammate) was hanging out at their place, he picked up the Sea Monkey tank (think soup-can sized plastic dealie), and attempted to look inside and determine if there were any signs of life. Unfortunately for the Sea Monkeys, he dumped a good deal of the tank's contents into the back of their TV, rendering the TV wholly inoperable. Clearly, the Sea Monkeys had their revenge.

Losing My Wallet: Episode IV

Most of you know (or maybe you don't) that I... don't always have my shit together. Oh, I get good grades, am a decent athlete, and only a little socially awkward, but things slip my mind over the course of a day that normally don't slip a person's mind once a month. Case in point, I have lost (or thought I lost) my wallet on three separate occasions prior to this Thursday.

Let's make that four.

We begin with the K Street Subway. The Subway restaurant at 21st and K is the best-administered Subway in the GW area. I've been going there since freshman year, and therefore, the people there know me, especially the Caribbean guy who is the manager (or at least is working there all the time). They can have a line up to the door, and even if you are last in that line, you will have your food in ten minutes or less. Not only that, but they properly assemble a sandwich. No extraneous meat spilling out, no horribly out-of-proportion add-ons... they're pros.

I was eating at Subway this fine Thursday, as I usually do. I had just escaped the fat farm at which I work, and I felt good about myself for eating something healthy for lunch yet again. Seriously, there's enough blubber in my office to light all the whale-oil lamps of 18th century Europe, so I feel productive for taking a step to ensure I don't end up like them. I finished my meal, I chucked my trash in the garbage, and walked out onto K Street. On my way out, I spotted Matt, one of the professional staff at CLLC. I said hello, exchanged pleasentries, and went on my way back to my apartment to finish out my lunch break before my class. I got to my apartment, reached back to grab my keycard-containing wallet, and... nothing but my ass back there - this cannot be good.

I ran back to the Subway, and my wallet was neither on the table nor anywhere else - no one had turned it in to my friend the manager. I concluded someone must have stolen it while I was throwing my trash away - there's simply no way I could have walked away from my table without my wallet, so it must have been gone before I picked up my bag and left. I sat through class, writing down each thing that I had to cancel or replace as I thought of more and more things. I also hoped that maybe... MAYBE that guy Matt saw a wallet on the table (I was sitting right next to the door), and picked it up. Maybe, before handing it to the manager, he looked inside, saw it was mine, and said "Ohh... Dave Stira's wallet! Wellll, I'll just have to send him an email when I get back to the office!"

Alas, when I returned to work, there was nothing in my inbox except pointless ultimate team emails about wiffleball, so I called my mom to get the phone number of the credit union from which my Visa was issued. She gave me the number, but suggested looking in the trash - maybe someone just stole the money (a whopping $12) and dumped the wallet. What was more likely, I thought to myself, is that I chucked my wallet with the rest of my garbage and didn't give it a second thought. This has happened before. In 2005, I threw away my student ID at the GW Hospital cafeteria. Armed with this new hypothesis as to how my wallet disappeared, I decided that pawing through garbage would be more interesting than work, so I left.

The manager at Subway informed me that the garbage from lunch had already made its way out into the dumpster. I told him I was not above dumpster diving, and he agreed to have me go back and look through it. One of the employees who wasn't doing anything important also volunteered to go help me. So the search party of me and a 50-year-old Hispanic Subway worker named Jose embarked on our search for my lost Nautica wallet (just bought it last month! What the hell). We arrived back behind the building, and Jose jumped into the dumpster and heaved three bags of festering garbage onto the pavement. I ripped open the first bag, and after picking through daintily at first, I decided an elbow-deep ruffling was the only way I was going to get through all this trash fast enough to get back to the fat farm without feeling bad about saying on my time sheet that I got back from class at 2:00. I finished the first bag. Nothing. My counterpart finished his first bag. Nothing.

Here I am dripping with trash-juice, and having come face to face with my most treacherous culinary foe. Tomatoes. Allllll up in that business. The words "Oh well, I guess it's not here. Dammit..." were just leaving my mouth, when, as Jose and I are sorting through the last bag of disgusting middle-management castoffs, he lets loose a hearty "haHAAA!" and pulls out my wallet, saturated in garbage-juice. He extends his hand, and with a shower of lettuce particles and indistinguishable soft drink droplets, we shake hands vigorously, celebrating our victory.

After having my wallet show up at UPD (University police) twice in the past year or two, this is definitely my best wallet-losing story ever. Who knows how many more I'll have in my next year of school and any grad school thereafter. But I can tell you that Jose deserves a raise. And that I will never go to another Subway again.