The University of Comparably Large Absurdities

Comparable to what? Why, USC, of course.

Last week, my JOUR 310 class (Investigative Reporting) met at UCLA to interview students, faculty, and/or staff about the UC system’s budget cuts and tuition hikes. It was a pretty simple assignment – talk to at least 5 different people and try to get good leads for stories. I don’t know how anyone else’s journey went, but mine was definitely interesting.

To give you some context, I went alone. I had class before the class, so I couldn’t go with the class because they left when I was still in class. Because I had left after my class to meet this class at UCLA, and traffic was a mother, I missed my class’s meeting right before. No problem. Another classmate informed me, and I was good to go.

The first man I talked to really boosted my confidence in this whole go-out-and-talk-to-strangers-at-a-rival-school-about-something-personal-that-affects-them-and-expect-them-to-be-open-with-you thing.

“Excuse me, hi! Are you on a break right now, do you mind if I ask you a few questions about the budget cuts at UCLA.”
“I do mind. I just really want to relax and…(he waves his cigarette at me).“

Okie dokie… mooooving on.

The next three people I talked to were helpful, and I really appreciated that even though they laughed when I told them I was from USC, they still spoke to me openly. I thought to myself that maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. I definitely regained my confidence after completely losing it to my shutdown-by-the-smoker experience. I was on a roll. Needless to say, the next guy really threw me off. I mean he really caught me off guard. I think I’m a pretty good conversationalist once a word is spoken. I can handle odd answers or a lack of dialogue, but sometimes, I guess, people find the most fascinating talking points.

He hadn’t been laid in 5 months.

I walked over to the academic counseling booth to ask the department whether or not an influx of students have come to them. Now, you’re probably thinking that line you just read a second ago wasn’t meant for this blog. Well, what happened was simple (aside from odd).

At the table, there was this guy standing and chatting with the girls. When he stopped talking and looked at me for a quick second, I rapidly seized the moment of eye contact! I asked him if I could ask some questions, etc. He rather willingly agreed, and when I straight up asked him if the budget cuts affected him, and he told me what you just read not too long ago.

“Well… I haven’t been laid in like 5 months.”
“Ok.”
“Yeah, I mean that’s a pretty big problem.”
“Um…”
“That’s a long time.” He pauses for 2 seconds, “But I don’t know if that’s related to the budget cuts.”

For the purpose of being effective, talk about TMI.  He proceeded to tell me a legitimate problem after all that balderdash*. Got my info. Then got a call. My friend’s roommate tells me that my friend’s phone isn’t working and that I should meet him (my friend), “…at the bookstore by the professor.”

“At the bookstore, by the professor” is where I was supposed to go to meet my friend who goes to UCLA. I guess if you went to UCLA it would make sense. It’s like saying, “Meet me at Bovard, by Tommy Trojan” to a USC student. I mean, what in the world does “by THE professor” mean anyway? I may go to USC, but I’m no psychic. So what do I do now?

Simple. I go to the bookstore and ask where this illustrious professor thing/person is. I walk in. I’m searching, I’m searching. Any sign of “PROFESSOR” would have helped. I looked for about 2 minutes and then walked to the cash register, where for goodness’ sake, I was asked.

“Excuse me, do you know where ‘the professor’ is?”
“I’m sorry, what?” the first girl asked.
“‘The professor.’ I don’t know what it is, my friend told me to meet him ‘at the bookstore by the professor.’”
“I don’t think we have anything like that,” the guy said.
“Umm…ok. Nothing like that?”
“Are you a first-year?” the second girl so rudely asks of me! I mean, what the hay?
“No, I don’t go here,” I respond, knowing, just knowing what question will proceed.
“Oh! Where do you go?”
…

Of course they laugh and think I’m an idiot. Whatever. My maid went to UCLA and your student gave me these absurd directions.

I turn around, and as if i was in a movie, there my friend is standing – through the glass outside, shoulders slouched, jaw hanging, looking annoyed up in the sky. So what happened? WHO was THE professor? Apparently, he meant…mine. He had seen two guys with tripods earlier where he was walking, and of course, he asked them if they were from USC and my class because no one else at UCLA would have tripods. (My tripod is my third arm.) My professor wanted to meet us by the bookstore around the time my friend was going to meet me. But, of course, I did not know this because why? Yes. I had a class before this class and was late coming…

Oh UCLA… One guy offered me Korean BBQ when I asked him if the budget cuts affected him in any way.

I was ready to leave. I was walking up these steps and as I got to the top clearing, two big guys – if I’m allowed to stereotype, they looked like football players – were walking towards me, and as I’m about to pass the one on the right, he stops.

“Excuse me. Hey. Can I get a hug?”
“Um, ok?”

His friend is chuckling or smiling, I’m left confused and I see his sweatshirt: UCLA Football. It was a sacrilegious act - on more levels than one.

I got to my car, buckled my seatbelt and returned to the comparably normal USC. Fellow Trojans, it’s good to be back. Yes, our little world in South Central might seem strange to those who can’t handle it. However, when I head over to the other school that claims to be so much better than ours, and I come back with these bizarre experiences, I’m left loving the odd trapezoidal-like shape  inside Exposition, Figueroa, Vermont and Jefferson. I’m not longing to perpetuate inimical ideas about a rival university. But from an outsider’s perspective, it’s a whole other world down there and if you’re not mentally prepared, you may be in for an absurd little adventure.

*I’ve waited a long time to use that word

Familial Verbage

Every family has its quirks. Now, I don’t think I know what my family’s are but I do know one thing – interesting things come up at the dinner table.

Methamphetamine

Tonight was my daddy’s 55th birthday. After dinner, we sat around and ate some cake.

Beena was explaining how today during her 3-hour break she went to get tutored at the math lab.
“The what lab?” Momma asked.
“The math lab,” Beena said.
“The meth lab, Momma. The Meth Lab.” I said.
“Hahahaha!” My dad was laughing with a smile on his face.
“The meth lab! Kinna….” Beena said as she too was laughing.

My Momma didn’t get it.

Cow Poop

When I competed in Forensics, my first ever speech, my baby, was my informative.
On Cow Dung. And yes, my family heard me practicing in my room, they saw me perform it at home, and every time I learned something new, bam! I gladly shared with their vulnerable ears.

Beena had her 2nd day of Forensics (the class) today and was telling us about possible topics at the dinner table. One of them is one humanure.

Yeah.

“Maybe I should do that one!”
“No, no please,” My Momma said, “I don’t wanna hear about manure all over again. One daughter was enough.”

Marijuana

Somehow the conversation reverted back to methamphetamine because Beena mentioned another topic – many foreclosed homes being former meth labs. While on the topic of drugs, Beena reminded us all of something.

“Daddy, didn’t you do marijuana once?”
He laughs lightly.
“No, no beta. I didn’t.” He responded.
Still laughing a little.
“No, Daddy, come on. I thought you mentioned something before,” I added.
My Momma’s eating cake.
“Beta, I was like 17 years old or something. And I didn’t know. James Uncle* gave it to me in something and I didn’t know. It was horrible. I felt like I was going crazy. I thought it was just orange juice.”
Hahahahha. Aw, Daddy. Beena and I laugh.

If you know my father at all, you know he’s the sweetest and seemingly most innocent, harmless looking man – unless if you’re a guy friend, I think.

“No, no, Beena, this is not funny. You shouldn’t do things like this.”
“We know Daddy, we know,” Beena and I said.

Lesbians

(Some of you know this story already)

For New Year’s Eve this year, my family went to a party at my mom’s friend’s house. Woo! It was fun. Their living room was converted into a dance room, complete with disco lights, streamers galore, a strobe light, and even – prepare yourself – a steam machine. Fun indeed.

At some point these girls show up. I’m not a hater. I’m an observer. They seemed alright. VERY voluminous hair. A good amount of eye makeup. That’s all I observed.

The next morning at our breakfast table, my aunt and mom were talking about the night before.

“Yeah, it was a fun. Good party. You know, did you see those two girls? I think they were lesbians,” Elizabeth Auntie* said.
“Oh yeah… Those girls. Yeah, I think they were,” my Momma said.

I start laughing hysterically. My aunt looks at me all confused as to why I’m laughing at such a serious matter.

“No, no. They were. You know, this kind of thing isn’t accepted in our community, but they have to express themselves somehow,” my aunt explained.

_____

I really how love how my family can just openly discuss everything. Everyone has opinions, it’s just a matter of sharing.

Welcome to my home.

*Name was changed to protect identity