I just want to talk about two of my recent days.
Go somewhere new
I leave a free public lecture on the human microbiome where I learned that the ocean contains one nonillion bacteria (isn't living in a university town wonderful?) and wander over to the Budget Bicycle Center parts and service store on Regent. A very trim silver-haired man in a polo shirt is working the floor. He shows me a few tires.
"What size tire do you need?" he says.
"Well, I have a hybrid."
"So....we're looking at 700c."
"Yes, that sounds right."
"I know that's right."
After he tells me I can't replace the tire myself, we move on.
"I was thinking about upgrading my pedals to ones with toe cages or a clipless system," I say.
"Well, those are two very different things."
Obviously. That's why I'm in this store looking at options, I think.
I point to the clipless pedals. "How much are these?"
"Clipless wouldn't be worth it if you're only going three miles at a time."
First of all, I know I'm not a super fit bike dude but why would you assume that I am only going three miles? Second, that's not what I asked.
We look at the selection of toe cages. "Which ones would you recommend?"
He shakes he head. "I mean, you just buy the best ones you can afford. Look, I don't know if we aren't connecting energetically or whatever, but I just don't know how to help you."
This comment makes me laugh incredulously and walk out. There are plenty of other bike shops in town, ones where the staff are less condescending and unhelpful.
No dirty dishes
The phone rings at 1:25 a.m. and I snap awake. It's my friend Chris.
"I assume you're calling to say you finished your game?" I say.
"Nah, I'm just seeing if you wanted to hang," he says in his laid-back way.
We both know the real reason for the call. Before I fell asleep, I had made sure my yellow phone was within arm's reach and double-checked that the ringer was turned up, just as I had been doing each night for the last few weeks.
I listen to Midwestern rappers on the student radio station on the drive over. One name-checked Wisconsin Dells. The streets are empty.
I am there before 2. Tori is adding items to a small dragon-shaped backpack. A muted undercurrent of excitement flows through the house.
"You will want to sleep on Chris's side of the bed. I put on fresh sheets, but..." Tori says.
"Got it," I say.
"There's cantaloupe already cut-up in the fridge for breakfast."
"Sounds great."
I look toward the sink. Being the thoughtful people they are, Tori and Chris hadn't left a single dirty dish for me. You better believe I didn't leave any for them the next day.
Tori gives me a hug. "Happy birthing!" I say as I wave the soon-to-be parents of two out the door.