Steve Erickson is some kind of god. You could tell it, because of the way he gallonted down the hall when
he went to clean the bathrooms. He had his yellow radio slapped over his shoulder and swung every piece of
himself into the job at hand. We knew that the bathrooms were in good hands, and would sit appreciatively in
them.
I learned that year that fighting with people who are some kind of god is dangerous to ones pants. See I
figured wrestling him would be fun, and it was, but my pants didn't appreciate it. I tried to sew them up, but it didn't
do much good. They had been my favorite pair of white pants until that point. My muscles rippled too much, that's
what I would tell people. "My pants broke because my muscles were rippling." Chicks would dig that.
Sometimes I had to remind myself that I was in the business of not digging chicks that semester. "I don't
dig chicks," I would remind myself. I would say that a few times loudly and usually didn't get very far, because I
would start smiling whimsically about one of them. They were all so pretty and cool.
Then suddenly one day as I was sitting at dinner I realized what it was. 5'9''. All of the girls were 5'9''.
Somehow the realization that all the girls I had liked were 5'9'' was something which I had known for a few years.
But being reminded of it again reminded me that I had no idea what I was doing and should stop doing it. So I guess
I did. Kind of.
Lots of guys were 5'9''. But I didn't like them, I was mostly bitter at them because I had no friends, except
for the guys that I had initially hated and then repented about. I took to eating more macaroni again.
On second thought, I think Justin and Luke were both about 5'9'', and so was Paul for that matter. I tried
not to think about it much. The macaronis really helped.
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