Anti-cool. It’s sort of like antifreeze, except not quite as tasty.
The funny thing about manning a table at a neighborhood coalition event is that everybody there lives in that neighborhood. Nobody at the event lives in your neighborhood, which is four miles away.
Any guesses where this is going?
Let’s back up.
I spent a few hours this evening at said neighorhood coalition gathering dazzling little kids with this stuff:
By the time I was done, it was 8:30pm.
8:30pm on a Sunday night.
We’ve already learned that Juneau public transportation shuts down at certain hours of the night, and this was the case again.
I don’t know very many people with cars here to begin with, and I couldn’t think of anybody close to my location to call without wildly inconveniencing them.
So that narrowed my options down to
- walk home
- run home
Another factor to consider?
It was pouring rain, per usual.
Which meant that an alternative interpretation of my options was:
- spend over an hour in the dark in the pouring rain
- spend only about half an hour in the dark in the pouring rain
Look, I don’t know about you, but it’s Sunday night and all I want to do is lay on the couch, not putz around in the dark in the rain all night.
Obviously, I got busy and ran my butt home.
The best part is that I was wearing a big doofy-looking backpack filled with my stuff.
Maybe I’m alone in this, but I’ve always perceived the action of running with a school backpack while wearing normal clothes to be a supreme act of dorkiness.
[[Tangential backstory: In high school, there was a group of kids who all happened to own wheely backpacks. Words cannot express how fond I was of these gentlemen. They played Magic cards at lunch. They wore wizard shirts. They pwn3d nOObs. And sometimes when they had to move fast, they would pull their wheely backpacks off the floor in formation, strap them onto their backs, and sprint down the hall in a fantastic dragon-shirt explosion of joyfully oblivious social ineptitude. Basically, they should have all been in a movie.]]
Anyway. Back to the present. As I turned the corner out of downtown on my impromptu jog home, I ran by a couple of guys I had already seen twice on the Perseverance Trail earlier that day during my 16-miler. The first time I passed by them, I had been in the middle of nervously clapping to ward off black bears. Yes, very slick. The second time I passed them, they poked amiable fun at me for running so long. I began to answer back with what would have been a very witty response except that I chose that precise moment to trip on a rock and almost fall down right in front of them. Even more slick.
So as I ran by them for the third time in one day, I was inwardly mortified when I saw their faces light up in gleeful recognition of the weird girl who runs a lot.
Sparknotes of this post: I jogged home wearing work clothes and a big dumb backpack. By now, between my ludicrous anti-bear tactics and my apparent penchant for running home, I have indisputably branded myself as Juneau’s resident doofus.
Are you cool?
How do I avoid this scenario in the future? I need to stop running home from events in unfortunate attire. It’s annoying.
What’s the dorkiest thing you’ve done lately?