We had reached our destination and not a moment too soon (at this point my bladder was well beyond capacity). It had stopped raining and we were walking around the seminary campus looking for our dormitory. This should have been a relatively simple endeavor given the small size of the campus, but we were utterly clueless and the grounds were empty. Jackson finally spotted a solitary person on campus; a pretty young woman talking on her cell phone. (Hey, things are looking up!) We were sweaty and disheveled, so I don't know what I expected, but we got the impression the woman didn't take a liking to us at all as she merely shrugged when we asked her for directions.
We eventually located our dormitory, the illustrious Larabee-Morris Hall. We entered the lobby and found a host of young men gathered around a table engaged in a game of Risk. The RA greeted us with a friendly "Hey dudes", and gave us the keys to room, #310. After relieving myself (finally), we parked our vehicles as close to the door as possible and I began the arduous task of removing what was left of the tarp . After hacking away the conglomerate mess of duct tape and plastic with a pocket knife, I evaluated the damage. Surprisingly, most of my belongings were still in tact and not as damp as I anticipated. With new found hope and strength, we entered the side door.
My spirit immediately sank to new lows. Rather than installing an elevator, the engineers of Larabee-Morris Hall had seen fit to construct a narrow spiral staircase as the only means by which to reach the third floor. I was tired, I was pissed, and I now faced two hours of hauling my belongings up countless winding stairs. Could things possibly get any better? Of course they could. It was pouring outside again.
My first impressions of Asbury Seminary? Ungodly humid, void of modern conveniences, and desperately lacking cordial females.
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2 comments:
First-CRAIG I LOVE THIS BLOG!
Secondly, your rendition of the story forever frees me from my husband (Jackson's) rendition that includes me saying in an aggressive tone "I DONT KNOW!!" I have always contended that I was fluster by two cute young guys approaching me on campus...I had been there for days and hadn't seen a guy under forty or a young guy who was not sporting jean shorts, white tennis shoes with knee socks and fanny packs! So what was a girl to do? Charmed at first, but when I saw scraps of blue under his nails and in his hair I grew concerned and simply shrugged.
So here's to you Mr. Jorts . . . crack open a can of Bud.
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