At some point during the third week of January, I get sick.
Two years ago, I was wrapping up a three-week long, four credit microeconomics course and starting my internship in the city when my body gave in. I had overambitiously thought that attending class from 9 a.m. to 12:20 p.m., commuting a hour and 15 minutes,then working for three hours, and then commuting back was a good idea.
I lasted three days doing that. The morning of my final exam, I awoke feeling miserable. My body ached and my head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. I could barely recall what an opportunity cost was; there was no way I could go to work.
Less than a week in and I'm already calling in sick, I thought. Boss is going to wonder what kind of a slacker did he intern did he just commit to. I sighed and dialed his number with trepidation. He didn't answer, so I left a message, apologizing at least five times in the process.
Fast forward one year. I was adjusting to life in Spain, and while details escape me, I do remember suffering from a nasty sore throat and cough that lasted a good two weeks. The pharmacy gave me some bitter orange-flavored powder that I mixed into water and forced down once a day. When that did nothing, Señora sent me back to the pharmacy, and when all they did was give me a worse tasting powder, she damned them and gave me her homemade remedy: a glass with the juice of one lemon, a tablespoon of honey and some water. Mmmm that stuff tasted so good. I sometimes drink it even when I'm not sick.
And now, dear reader, I am suffering for the third year in a row. I sensed it coming on Friday night when I crawled into bed. There was a tickle in my throat and a tingle in my nose that warned me to watch out. And sure enough, yesterday morning I awoke feeling like crap. I spent the entire day hunched over my computer working on the thesis with Aley. We ended up being extremely productive, and for that reason I didn't have time to think about my weakened state.
But once we wrapped for the day, it went straight downhill. Luckily there's no sore throat, just sneezing, coughing, body aches and a nose I've been blowing like a foghorn.
Final semester, here I come.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Thursday, January 22, 2009
An Asking of My Own
Since October, I've been following The Daily Asker, a blog documenting one woman's quest to, as the name suggests, ask for something every day for a year.
Last week I made an asking of my own. I'm not meek by character, but I'm surprisingly deferential to those with authority. I use the term authority loosely, because in this case, all it took to confer "authority" was a glass ticket window.
About two weeks ago, my friend Christin and I decided to get dinner and a movie. The parking lot was half-full, but the ticket area was empty save the two bored-looking high school girls manning the booth.
Christin walked up to the blonde on the left, I took the brunette on the right.
"One for the 6:45 showing of Benjamin Button," I said, handing her my credit card. As she slid me the receipt, Christin, who was still getting out her wallet, asked if there was a student discount. There was, $2 off.
"Oh, can I get the student discount too?" I asked, pulling out my college ID.
"Sorry, the transaction's already gone through. You have to ask for a discount first," she said monotonously.
Normally, I would have believed her and simply accepted the higher price to avoid causing a scene or looking like a cheapskate. After all, what do I know about credit card machines. But this time I decided to fight for my $2.
"Well, I didn't know there was a discount. Can't you just cancel the transaction and do it again?"
No, that would take the manager's approval, she said.
"Couldn't you just give me $2 cash? I mean, I am a student,"
No, then their cash drawer would be short.
I kept pressing, firmly but politely. They mentioned the manager again.
"OK, then may I speak to the manager?"
The two girls exchanged a look.
"You really want me to call the manager over $2?" the blonde asked incredulously.
"Yeah, I'd appreciate it if you could," I said.
She sighed and got the guy, who couldn't have been more than a year or two older than me.
"Oh yeah, we can do that for you," he said nonchalantly after I explained him what had happened.
I thanked him and the other two profusely and Christin and I went on to watch God's greatest creation (Brad Pitt, *sigh*) reverse age for the next two hours.
Gained: $2, the self-assurance not to believe everything I hear, and the self-confidence not to care what two bored high-schoolers who I will never see again thought of me.
Last week I made an asking of my own. I'm not meek by character, but I'm surprisingly deferential to those with authority. I use the term authority loosely, because in this case, all it took to confer "authority" was a glass ticket window.
About two weeks ago, my friend Christin and I decided to get dinner and a movie. The parking lot was half-full, but the ticket area was empty save the two bored-looking high school girls manning the booth.
Christin walked up to the blonde on the left, I took the brunette on the right.
"One for the 6:45 showing of Benjamin Button," I said, handing her my credit card. As she slid me the receipt, Christin, who was still getting out her wallet, asked if there was a student discount. There was, $2 off.
"Oh, can I get the student discount too?" I asked, pulling out my college ID.
"Sorry, the transaction's already gone through. You have to ask for a discount first," she said monotonously.
Normally, I would have believed her and simply accepted the higher price to avoid causing a scene or looking like a cheapskate. After all, what do I know about credit card machines. But this time I decided to fight for my $2.
"Well, I didn't know there was a discount. Can't you just cancel the transaction and do it again?"
No, that would take the manager's approval, she said.
"Couldn't you just give me $2 cash? I mean, I am a student,"
No, then their cash drawer would be short.
I kept pressing, firmly but politely. They mentioned the manager again.
"OK, then may I speak to the manager?"
The two girls exchanged a look.
"You really want me to call the manager over $2?" the blonde asked incredulously.
"Yeah, I'd appreciate it if you could," I said.
She sighed and got the guy, who couldn't have been more than a year or two older than me.
"Oh yeah, we can do that for you," he said nonchalantly after I explained him what had happened.
I thanked him and the other two profusely and Christin and I went on to watch God's greatest creation (Brad Pitt, *sigh*) reverse age for the next two hours.
Gained: $2, the self-assurance not to believe everything I hear, and the self-confidence not to care what two bored high-schoolers who I will never see again thought of me.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Inauguration
What an incredible day.
When we left campus at 5:45 a.m., a crescent moon was shining in the deep navy blue sky. By the time we made it out of Metro's L'fEnfant Plaza station almost 75 minutes later, an indigo sky and the artificial orange glow of street lights bathed the river of people on Seventh Street. One name graced many of their hats, scarves, shirts and sweatshirts. Shouts of "Good Morning," and "Welcome to the Inauguration," came from red-hat clad volunteers.
By 7:30 the six of us were rooted to a spot of the National Mall's cold packed dirt between Seventh and Fourth Streets. We stood, we (well, I,) dozed, we waited. The sky went from lavender to to cerulean and the sun's pointed rays did nothing to keep the 20-degree air from seeping through the multiple layers of socks, gloves, leggings, and sweatshirts, numbing our fingers and toes.
While we waited, we sang along to "American Pie" and "This Land is Your Land" replayed from Sunday's concert. We stamped our feet and marched in place to jumpstart blood flow. We craned our necks around the 6-foot-4 guys in front of us for fleeting glimpses at the jumbotron. We waved the American flags the Boy Scouts of America gave us. The occasional pushy spectator jostled through, but despite everything, a celebratory air permeated the jovial crowd.
Four-and-a-half hours later, our 43rd president was introduced for the last time. Many booed; we didn't. Our country's leaders deserve respect, whether or not their policies are agreeable. Then our 44th president stepped up to take his oath. The jumbotron came into view and I captured the botched swearing-in on video.
Finally the moment arrived. Ever since I missed the Obama rally on campus during the 2006 midterm elections, I'd been waiting to hear the Great One speak. Sure, the best view might come from sitting at home, but the enraptured silence of the audience, the echo of his voice off the city's marble monuments telling us how we will succeed, nothing, absolutely nothing can top that.
Officially, Obama's constituency resides in the United States. But the entire world seems to be pinning everything on this man's shoulders. I don't think anyone has ever faced such pressure. Yet in this speech, Barack Obama reminded us that and that we will rise above these rough times not because we as Americans are entitled to, but because we owe it to the rest of the world to. It's no longer us vs. them, it's us and them.
No, charisma isn't everything and talk only gets us so far. But there is something in this man, a seed of passion, an innate determination that says, trust me. Things won't change tomorrow, but they will soon enough.
So was it worth it? Braving the cold for more than four hours, weaving through intense crowds for in search of food for another hour, standing in a stuffy hallway for two more hours while waiting for the Metro back to campus- a total of 13 hours, sore legs and an aching back just to hear an 18-minute speech? Yes, it was worth every bone-chilling moment, made even the better because each was spent with friends new and old.
Incredible, indeed.
When we left campus at 5:45 a.m., a crescent moon was shining in the deep navy blue sky. By the time we made it out of Metro's L'fEnfant Plaza station almost 75 minutes later, an indigo sky and the artificial orange glow of street lights bathed the river of people on Seventh Street. One name graced many of their hats, scarves, shirts and sweatshirts. Shouts of "Good Morning," and "Welcome to the Inauguration," came from red-hat clad volunteers.
By 7:30 the six of us were rooted to a spot of the National Mall's cold packed dirt between Seventh and Fourth Streets. We stood, we (well, I,) dozed, we waited. The sky went from lavender to to cerulean and the sun's pointed rays did nothing to keep the 20-degree air from seeping through the multiple layers of socks, gloves, leggings, and sweatshirts, numbing our fingers and toes.
While we waited, we sang along to "American Pie" and "This Land is Your Land" replayed from Sunday's concert. We stamped our feet and marched in place to jumpstart blood flow. We craned our necks around the 6-foot-4 guys in front of us for fleeting glimpses at the jumbotron. We waved the American flags the Boy Scouts of America gave us. The occasional pushy spectator jostled through, but despite everything, a celebratory air permeated the jovial crowd.
Four-and-a-half hours later, our 43rd president was introduced for the last time. Many booed; we didn't. Our country's leaders deserve respect, whether or not their policies are agreeable. Then our 44th president stepped up to take his oath. The jumbotron came into view and I captured the botched swearing-in on video.
Finally the moment arrived. Ever since I missed the Obama rally on campus during the 2006 midterm elections, I'd been waiting to hear the Great One speak. Sure, the best view might come from sitting at home, but the enraptured silence of the audience, the echo of his voice off the city's marble monuments telling us how we will succeed, nothing, absolutely nothing can top that.
Officially, Obama's constituency resides in the United States. But the entire world seems to be pinning everything on this man's shoulders. I don't think anyone has ever faced such pressure. Yet in this speech, Barack Obama reminded us that and that we will rise above these rough times not because we as Americans are entitled to, but because we owe it to the rest of the world to. It's no longer us vs. them, it's us and them.
No, charisma isn't everything and talk only gets us so far. But there is something in this man, a seed of passion, an innate determination that says, trust me. Things won't change tomorrow, but they will soon enough.
So was it worth it? Braving the cold for more than four hours, weaving through intense crowds for in search of food for another hour, standing in a stuffy hallway for two more hours while waiting for the Metro back to campus- a total of 13 hours, sore legs and an aching back just to hear an 18-minute speech? Yes, it was worth every bone-chilling moment, made even the better because each was spent with friends new and old.
Incredible, indeed.
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