The Yolks on Me

July 22nd, 2002

Combined hours typically spent working Friday, Saturday and Sunday: 6
Combined Hours worked this weekend: 26.5
Hours spent wishing I wasn’t working: 26 (I actually did enjoy the half an hour spent driving the golfcart into the highway median late at night.)

Alert the karma police! They say there’s no rest for the wicked, and I must’ve been a very bad girl in a past life. It’s SUUSI weekend. The Unitarians - the cult who knows how to party - are here, and I’m a slave to their whims. Not a kinky S&M- type slave. Just a garden-variety type, plebian slave. A paid slave - but what price dignity?

In answer, about $7.50 an hour.

I?m a slave for you (SUUSI). I cannot hold it;
I cannot control it. I?m a slave for you (SUUSI).
I won?t deny it; I?m not trying to hide it.

Saturday night I didn’t go out and party. You see, I was up until almost 2 am driving a catywompus golfcart across the vast expanse of Tech’s academic/residential/dairy quarters. I guess the best/worst part of the night happened early on. At about 10 p.m. I remarked to my “duty-buddy”, Jen, what a lovely night it was. The air was cool, the sky milky-black, a handful of stars were scattered about.

Everything was perfect. Then - sudden as summer storm - a hoopty emerged. And from that hoopty came the soft wooshing of an egg ripe for mischief. The hoopty headed southbound, and the hapless golfcart heading north passed quietly in the night. The only sounds were a soft crack, some jovial laughter, and the sensation of yolks and whites dripping down my legs.

I think i’m the first person in the history of summer conferences to get egged while riding a golfcart. Rest assured, Mom and Dad are proud.

The rest of the weekend was thoroughly uninteresting. It was spent it being a runner for people wearing fuschia flamingo hats, and tie dyed socks. This is supposed to be the highlight of the summer, as far as conferences go. I’m serious. And I’m scared.

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