Ivy League Debacle
Ok, from here on, I will probably only have time to post once/week (if at all!)Yesterday, they pretty much ran us around by groups—which means, you were given two tasks to accomplish per hour, and if you got them both done in the first 10 minutes, then you had to sit around and wait another fifty minutes so you could do the next two things—I guess this is an orderly way for them to deal with us.
We picked up our uniforms (basically, scrubs that will identify us as students in the hospital, and not allow us to be mistaken for anyone who knows jack shit…we picked up our supplies, then books and signed over our loan checks, and so on, funning from building to building, floor to floor, being fit for this, tested for that—put your arm out, when was your last PPD and where is Daly City?
I locked in with a cool group of peeps that I’ll tell you about here:Arthur (“party arty”) is hilarious, quick witted and admits to being a bit of a slacker when it comes to study; he expressed his concern about getting in with the “smart kids” to force him to be good. He’s from Houston and seems to be (paradoxically!) quite liberal.
Jillian is a tiny little thing, and she reminds me of Piglet in the Winnie the Pooh stories—always afraid of every little thing, and gives voice to the bad thoughts going on in her head “you guys, I got a B in physio and anatomy, and a B in Microbiology—how am I going to be able to get a B here?”
(the only A’s will go to the few folks who can end the term with 100% of the points—good lord, I’m going to try, but I’m not very hopeful.)
Shannon is quiet and turns red if you make him laugh hard—he was responding to Jillian’s “you guys—I’m really bad at math and I need help—I need to go over my 12 and 11 multiplications before the med-math test” So, Shannon starts giving her some super complicated sounding shortcut for doing it “just add the two things together and insert them in the middle—if you’re trying to do 11x12 just think 1+2=3 and insert it into the 11 so it’s 132” or something. Blank stares all around the pizza and I go “ok, Rain Man—definitely 132, yeah…” Poor Shannon laughed so hard that I thought we’d have to quickly remember our CPR on him.
Karin is brilliant and from Oregon—very witty.
Katie is from Petaluma and also hilarious, she’s partnered up with Lacrista who is another ETP anesthesia homey.
We started the free part of our day by getting drenched in the two block distance back to our dorm—the sky opened up and buckets and sheets of tepid water fell out of the sky. Not rain, I kept saying—this is fog you wimps!
By the time I got to the dorm (two minutes?) even the money in my wallet was drenched. We agreed to go ring our clothes out and go run some errands together. We rendezvous-ed back at the lobby and head out to purchase MORE books, and the required and much needed Ivy League school pride garb; Columbia sweatshirts, tee shirts, ID lanyards and so on. I got a groovy pair of orange crocs (perforated foam clogs) that are serving as slippers at the moment. With these on, if I ever need to don the respirator mask (bill shaped) I will look like a duck with scrubs on. Excellent!
So, we decided after dropping some mad cash at the bookstore to drop in for a slice. Pizza in NY isn’t as bad as I had expected, and the Sicilian-style deep dish might be close to what I like (even if it’s not got many toppings.)
Again, we rendezvous-ed on the 11th floor and watched the basketball game while we waited for everyone to show—I can’t tell you who was playing because basketball is possibly my least favorite sport—Miami and Detroit, possibly? I think one of those teams won :)
We left around 11 pm and headed for our one night of freedom before “boot camp” these next 8 weeks. To start out, everything was fine—the subway was a bit complicated and there were more stairs than I certainly like, but we got there—a pub called “the West End” which is supposedly the New York hang out for Kerouac, Ginsberg, and all the beat poets when they weren’t at Vesuvius on Columbus St. back home. It has become a rather bland and boring collegiate hang out, full of the requisite banality. It was hard to imagine great conversations occurring there.
In the group were Arty, Katie, Lacrista, Jillian and myself. We had a glass of beer (a pitcher didn’t fill all 5 glasses fully, but I was ok with that) and before you know it, another pitcher was ordered. I made sure my glass had remained about half full so no-one would refill it, and that trick seemed to work fine. I tend to laugh a lot so people probably thought I was equally inebriated. (with my one beer)
Jillian confessed to not drinking, and I had to step in and be maternal when people were trying to get her to drink “ah ah ah…tsk, tsk—this constitutes as peer pressure, and I won’t stand for it—if she doesn’t want any beer, don’t force her” She was fatigued so she looked pretty inebriated as it was, though we all knew she had not touched a drop.
Surprise, a whole contingent of around 20 Columbia ETP students walk in, and then the party got loud.
I guess we got kicked out around 1:30 but by the time we actually got everyone rounded up and out of there, it was two—we walked back to the god-awful subway (a place that stinks of diesel fumes, only heated up to about 120 degrees to hit you in the face as you descend the stairs) and in the subway car, a few of us separated ourselves out of the noisy group. The looks on the New Yorkers’ faces was one I’ve seen all over the world—here come these rich white kids, drunk on crappy beer their rich white fathers are paying for. There was no concern for how loud they were talking, their behavior, etc. At 2:30 in the morning, the kind folks riding this subway line were hard working people, with thankless jobs—and mouths to feed at home…here we all were, Ivy League assholes, oblivious to their toil and hard lives—wooo hooooooo, party!!!!
So, a hand full of us sat quietly and made eye contact with the locals, and tried to smile and look apologetic. When the subway car vomited us out onto the platform, I bet the inside of that subway car was nice and peaceful again. We spewed out into Broadway and a cry of “double cheeseburger” went out—and the herd moved mindlessly toward it. By now, with all the stairs, and approaching three o’clock, I was moving slowly, and Jillian was almost sleep-walking, so I took up the rear with her. When the cheeseburger hunt started, she stopped dead in her tracks and said she was going back to the dorm, that she didn’t want any food, and a certain fella, whom I won’t name, offered to walk her home. At this point, I thought a) that’s sweet of him to be so chivalrous, then b) he thinks she’s wasted. So I quickly said I was going to also go back to the dorms and we’d all walk together.
I suspect now, that b) was the accurate choice because as we took perhaps 10 steps away from Broadway, he changed his mind and said he was going to go for food. So, at three AM, in the thick of Harlem, Jillian and I came back to the dorms on our own, without ever sighting another living soul. The topic of discussion was the debauchery, but I was inwardly cursing this fellow who probably had had his plans foiled by my quick inclusion on the walk home.
I called George, and went to bed at 3:30.
It’s now about 7:30 am and I guess I’m back in scholastic mode—four hours of sleep and plenty of work to do!
I’m so tired from the walking, but I have errands again to run, food to buy, a student loan check to deposit, coffee to find (medicinal withdrawal prevention) and about 900 chapters to read this weekend.
Ahhh. College.
posted by sketchmonkey @ 5:41 PM
2 Comments:
Hey Lis,
I'm gald you both made it back to your rooms safely.
Tell that 'certain fella' it would be best for him to avoid me whenever I show up there.
4 hours sleep huh, wow, nosleeplisa is back in sleep deprivation training.
Sta leggendo questo che li fa stanco ?
Love Ya !!
Giorgio
Your site is on top of my favourites - Great work I like it.
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