Raindrops kept falling on my head. Hiding beneath my warm beanie, my eyes were more than just a little red as I tried desperately to see my way past the lagoon and onto campus. A sweatshirt that had once been designed to keep me warm was now dripping bucketfuls of rain thanks to the week’s winter storm and all I could think about that moment was how much I loved this damn stuff.
Maybe it was the fact that everyone I saw that day looked like the rain had dampened their frail hearts and muddied their spirits, driving them into their dry, cozy I.V. homes for the afternoon and leaving me the outdoors all to myself. Maybe it was how the lagoon seemed so peaceful; no humans meant no distractions from the only reason I decided to jaunt out to this end of campus in the first place. All I knew for sure was that I had better move quickly – the bag of Humboldt I had stashed back at the pad wasn’t going to smoke itself.
I could barely make out Storke Tower through the downpour when I happened to glance at a flock of cranes scavenging on the grass nearby. Looking closer, I realized those smart balls of feathers were taking part in a feeding frenzy on a field of edible ecstasy any stoner could appreciate. Now, worms aren’t usually my thing, but I gave all due respect to those water fowl and their plight to capitalize on this rainy occasion that brought out the most slippery and slimy of night crawlers.
These birds didn’t fuck around. Each took a systematic approach to the feast, making sure every square inch of campus lawn they covered had not one single worm left to be gobbled down their avian esophagi. I had to marvel at such a dedicated approach to eating; I feel proud when I muster the energy to throw Easy Mac in the microwave or bust out the frozen pizza and plop it in the oven I never clean. For being a civilized human being, it sure seemed like these cranes had one up on me. Then the night before flashed into my brain.
Super Cucas at three in the morning is always an adventure. I must admit, the smell that they waft into the I.V. air in the wee hours after midnight grabs my nostrils like a fishhook and rips at the inner lining of my olfactory perception. Many a paycheck I have lost to this “grandest of cucas,” but I just can’t seem to stumble home some nights without one. This night, just like all the others that blend together in this town, would have been no different – except some pompous asshole had to ruin it.
Sitting down at a table with Evan and Hunter after we spouted out our intricate orders, my mind wandered into the far reaches of the panoramic skyline painted boldly on the far wall. I was soon thrown off my imaginary horse ride into the sunset however, as a mess of discarded food and napkins was thrown onto the floor from the table next to us.
“Clean this fucking shit up,” shouted a young man who obviously couldn’t decide between dressing up like Eminem or a Backstreet Boy when he got ready for the evening’s roller coaster ride. The place went dead silent.
“This shit is disgusting. Why doesn’t someone clean this shit up. This shit is bad business, dog.”
I couldn’t believe I was hearing this fuck-tard correctly. As every underpaid and sleep-deprived Super Cucas worker glared at him, and later cleaned up the mess he created, I couldn’t help but marvel at the application of this human mind.
First of all, not only was every worker in Super Cucas going to add a sample of their saliva to his delicious order back in the kitchen, but secondly, the dude’s karma just took a nosedive into an emptied swimming pool. Asking employees to clean up a mess is one thing, throwing a fit like a four-year-old and tossing food onto the floor is completely different and completely uncalled for.
For how civilized we humans think we are, it’s amusing how much a flock of cranes can accomplish peacefully as opposed to a spoiled college undergraduate when their stomachs are rumbling. If we’re so exceptional, why are we the ones acting like “animals” thanks to such barbaric urges? Why does it seem that we are the ones using our minds less than our bird-brained brothers?
Daily Nexus Opinion Editor Jeff Gibson tried to slip Alka-Seltzer into the asshole customer’s water, but, sadly, his stomach did not explode.