Grades are in

Look at me, sitting pretty with a 4.0 gpa this semester. This pulls my cumulative average up above 3.0, and makes me wish I could go back to 2001 and kick my unclassified ass for doing a shitty job in that random class I took.

Today I drove over the mountain to fill out paperwork for my new job. As I drove through the Pali tunnels, a motorcycle tore around me and almost caused me to kill myself. My mother once saw an ad for motorcycle tours of the Big Island, complete with Road Captain. I contemplated the idea of Road Captains for the rest of the ride to the university.

I downed a Diet Pepsi and walked across the empty campus to the student service center, where I brandished my gpa and managed to get a job referral which would allow me to work at the library. My mother told me recently about a man who stopped to take a piss next to a highway and was struck by ball lightning, incinerating a path from his heel, up his leg, and hollowing out his body cavity. From her descriptions, Pepsi does the very same thing to her. And, as it happens, to me as well. It feels terrible. While waiting for my appointment and feeling jittery, I discovered that the women's room was closed for cleaning, and snuck into the men's room instead. I'm such a rebel.


Tomorrow I have yet another date with paperwork at the university, after which I will be trained and scheduled and, much later, paid. Sorry to leave my (three?) readers with fewer tales of Human Resources, but that is how it must be. It must!