My Rookie Mistake

I’ve always been proud of my memory. We met once? I remember. We never met but we sat on opposite sides of the room in macro? No idea who you are but I always recognize you. Pointless information that you mentioned in passing? I got that shit on lock down.

I’m not bragging or anything though… my exceptional capabilities extend only to people, conversations, and random interactions (everything else is subject to the normal powers of remembrance). Well, ‘twas a blustery Thursday when the noble steed that is my memory was brought to its knees and everything I once knew about myself crashed and burned.

The scene: Main hallway, computer science building. 5:59 pm. Wind is blowing devil-pollen about campus.

The setup: I’m running late for a meeting on the third floor. I’ve taken 2 rounds of DayQuil, 2 different allergy pills, and supplemental Advil for the allergy/cold/fever cross-bred beast-heathen attacking my immune system. Police activity on the subway rerouted and extended my commute, thus putting me in a sour mood. 

The characters: Myself (Rose), my brain (differentiated with italics), and one other woman walking toward me (she shall be referred to as Mystery Woman)

[Power walking to the stairs… gonna make it to the meeting!]

Mystery Woman (MW): Hi, Ginger!!

Brain: *Blah blah blah nonsense and nothing intelligent happening* Oh, me? Wait, what? That’s not my name. Confusion. Do not recognize, do not have time to question, act normal.

Rose: *smile and wave*

MW: Do you remember my name?

Brain: If she called me Ginger, there would no reason for me to know her name. HA. How am I going to make sure she doesn’t feel awkward when I tell her I’m not Ginger? I must engage in conversation, beginning with my real identity, but in a soft and apologetic tone.

Rose: Sorry…I’m Rose!

MW: Yes, I know your name, but do you know mine?

Brain: Nothing that’s happening makes any sense. Where am I? Who is this?  What’s happening?

Rose: *blank stare* I’m so sorry….

MW: I’m _(her name)_, from advising!

Brain: Say what? 

Rose: Uhhhh… I’m sorry?

MW: __(Her name)__! You’re doing a panel interview and tour for me this weekend!?

Brain: LOL GOTCHA ROSE. You really did know her all along, but sometimes I just like to watch you be awkward.

Rose: Oh my god, of course, yes! On Sunday. I’ll be there! I’m so sorry again! 

Brain: Aight wrap it up, Rose, you look pretty dumb. We’re late, make an exit.

Rose: Ok, I need to get upstairs, see you Sunday.

Brain: Good, good. 

MW: No, Saturday! The panel is on Saturday. We are meeting at 8:45. 

Brain: LOL DOUBLE GOTCHA. Rose, you’re such an awkward asshole. But for realz, please walk away. This literally could not be going worse.

Rose: Oh my gosh, yes, of course! That’s what I meant, I’ll be there! It’s in my calendar! I’m so sorry, I have to get to a meeting upstairs.

MW: I just sent you a reminder- don’t forget. See you Saturday.

Brain: Nice work, Rose. Real smooth. 

[End scene]

Well played, Brain, well played. You really got me this time. Thanks for nothin. This is a rookie mistake purely for how awkward I am and how uncomfortable the whole thing was. Of course I know this woman, and we’d definitely met before, but my jackass brain and my piece-of-trash memory failed to serve me any sort of information at the time. No advice on this one, Rooks. Just don’t do what I do.

Ok really, can someone please explain bar soap to me? For realz, as far as I can tell, it has no practical value.

Let me explain: Because of all my glorious allergies, I have to use this really specific no nonsense soap. I ran out, and our campus store only had it in bar form. Having been raised with loofa and soapy sudzzzz galore, it wasn’t my first choice, but I figured it would harden me in a #firstworldproblems kinda way. Well, my lads and ladies, it was #myrookiemistake (tweet it!).

I’ve been trying to use it for like a week, and I MAYBE wash like 1/19 of my body before that piece of shit is all over the bottom of the tub. The bar is impossibly slippery, there are no sudzzzz and I’m scrubbing so hard I’m pretty much getting bruises. And by “pretty much getting bruises” I mean I’m not actually bruised at all, but I FEEL like I could be.

My ineptitude could be my own fault… but at the same I really don’t think it is, and so, I’m just gonna go out on a limb and say that everyone that uses bar soap is a rookie.

A dirty rookie. Because there is no chance you’re cleaning any part of your body.

<3 rose (sudzzzz is a real word)

Giving a Standing Ovation for Too Long- We got last minute tickets to see Chicago, my favorite Broadway show! Yay! It was awesome and I gave it a full standing ovation. You must be like “Man, what’s so rookie about that?” Well, ladies and gents, i was giving that standing ovation for the WHOLE SECOND HALF OF THE SHOW. yep. i stood for the whole second act. Why? Because the line for the women’s room spiraled down two flights of stairs. Where was i in the line? third from last. When did I get to the front of the line? when intermission ended. Why didn’t I just go and take my seat? because after straddling someone for about 8 beats of “All That Jazz” I realized that the journey past the next 9 scowling human beings, who wouldn’t dream of moving their fat thighs for me, was not worth it. So as the people in the row behind me started bitching and being all “c’mon you’ve got to be kidding me” I walked directly back up the aisle and stood in the back of the theater for an hour. Crying. 

Being unaware of St. Patrick’s Day and then walking opposite of the big-ass parade- Arrive in Penn Station, NYC on March 17th. Why does everyone look like a weird mix of a Leprechaun and Snookie? With 100% honesty, I can tell you that I had no idea it was St. Patrick’s Day. Upon seeing thousands of these drunk, green, 4-leaf-covered, and overly exposed freaks push past me, I fired off a quick text to a NYC savvy friend: “Is there a parade in NYC for St. Paddys?” Response: “A HUGE ONE. I went once but never found it and then woke up covered in my own blood and vomit, then puked in Penn Station.”

Perfect. 

An hour and a half later, my parents and I made it SIX BLOCKS to the hotel. They had previously decided that suitcases were the proper luggage for the weekend trip. Classic Rookie parents. NY sidewalks and large parades of Irishmen aren’t exactly conducive to rolling suitcases. Then there was me, in my train outfit (sweatpants and oversized sweater) with a HUGE backpack strapped to my back. I looked like an awkward mix of a homeless old woman and a 7th grader. As if looking painfully out of place weren’t enough, it was also about 15 degrees warmer than I’d planned for. But sweating, wearing no green, and with my parents in tow, I did push past those masses of drunk hoes. And i’m proud to say I survived. 

<3 Rose

Where have I been all your life??? No matter- I’m back now. Sorry it’s been so long since the last post… I don’t really have a good excuse. I DOOOO have some good stories though. 

I recently took a trip to New York City and it was the most memorable trip I’ve taken in a while. “Wow Rose, that’s awesome- what was so memorable about it?” Oh just the fact that it was a FULL BLOWN ROOKIE F*CKING DISASTER. The following is the first installment of a three part series.

Sitting my ass down in the Quiet Car - Decided it would be fun to take a train to NYC. Board train, find seat, sit down. There are only single aisle seats available, so I sit down next to an amicable looking woman, then commence chatting with my mother. As it turns out, not only did my family end up in the quiet car, but I also managed to sit next to the devil… 15 minutes into the 4 hour train ride, she THREE FINGER POKES ME and goes “excuse me, are you aware this is the quiet car? [*sinister smile*]. I begin to laugh awkwardly, and my mom does like 8 double-takes (a 16-take, if you will) and then goes, “oh, I know. And I also know that means I can’t talk on a cell phone or scream down the aisle [[[[[dramatic pause]]]]] neither of which I am currently doing”. And then we all sat there for 4 hours, my mom and i texting each other AND talking back and forth about The Satan-Bitch whilst popping our gum as loud as possible, and That Satan-Bitch playing Words with Friends with friends that she probably pays to like her. Bitch.

SWEET LORD ABOVE GUIDE ME to the commuter rail through the mass of 10,000 bruins fans that have just exited the Garden. In this swarm of black and yellow, I do admit to the slightest of rookie mistakes and wish that my timing, as always, had been better…