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Tales of a Post-Grad Nothing

Monday, January 17, 2005

The Loseriest Loser in Loserville



It is now 4:00 PM. In exactly 1 hour, I'm supposed to be on a flight to Poland. I am currently 3 hours away from the airport. Fucking dumbass. In my mind, I had pictured this trip as being all the good parts of a semester abroad in Poland without any of the drawbacks. In my head, I imagined that I would land in Poland and directly proceed to make lifelong (hot) friends (really hot) with neverending (scorchingly hot) stories from around the world, eat new and delicious things, and have numerous adventures in which I would have to (and successfully would) fight off people infected with rage or something else equally awesome. Moreover, I really just wanted some sort of oddly awesome story I could drop at places like high school reunions and family dinners and people would have to ask questions to find out more. Conversations would go something like this:

[them]: Hey, I have this friend from Poland, he/she's rad.
[me]: Where's he/she from?
[them]: Krakow
[me]: Oh, I've been to Krakow, it's beautiful, the best CzywxXqydnhxz I've ever tasted.
[them]: What's that?
[me]: Oh it's a new Polish dish made out of the simmered remains of the rage-infected. Jon Stewart and the recently resurrected George Washington Carver served me their version of it when we were there fighting for the side of the living. It's surprisingly good, and healthy too.

If you can honestly have conversations like this, you automatically win a permanent seat in the International Hall of Badass. If, on the other hand, you missed your flight to Poland because you mistakenly thought you could "make a quick dash" to the other side of the city to retrieve your camera from the Fascist French postal service AND THEN catch your flight, you win the chance to have 65 Euros charged to your credit card.

Happy MLK Day everyone.

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