I don’t have enough money for my chicken nuggets

Setting the scene: 14 US college students imagining missing the 11:22pm train from Stratford-upon-Avon after embarking on the theatrical expedition of Shakespearan theater (amazeballs, let me tell you what) with a wee taste of King Lear. Adrenaline, or perhaps the surge of energy coursing through the limbs of young academians sitting for multiple hours, pushed 7 members of our group into a sprint for the train station.

Perhaps this action was slightly premature, but I personally was ready to rebel a little bit and flip off society’s expectations of appropriate public behavior after a snitch in an atrocious ugly pink jacket disabled our ability to sit ONE ROW CLOSER in the theater. You could say I was offended. Long story short, we made it with at least fifteen minutes to spare and waited for our more logical group members to arrive to the same destination with plenty of time. I was happy, I earned my deep sleep that night.

Moving through the second week jam packed with tours, inductions, lectures, translating Shakespeare, and trash talking some of the other students from different universities (those who shall not be named), it is easy to feel familial ties begin to form between these intellectual, experienced, intentional and compassionate young adults that we are surrounded by; how can I continue to keep meeting incredible people from Colorado State? Truly a spectacle that could not be explained in words that are accessible in the vault of my vocabulary.

It wouldn’t be a proper blog post from your own token homosexual male if there wasn’t some tragedy involved, so let me provide a truly incredible anecdote for you all:

It was another average day in the Sainsbury market with your boy, Cole, just trying to buy his third bagguete in a 48 hour period, deodorant and, of course, a minimum of four ciders.

Upon waiting far too long in the self-checkout line, I finally get to my station and am ready to get my stuff and trek back home. The crabbiest old hag of a British woman walks up to me and asks for my ID for the ciders. Obligingly, I pull out my temporary Colorado driver’s lisence, and let me tell you, she was NOT pleased. No matter how much convincing, intellectual arguments supported with a plethora of reasons and at least five previous alcohol runs to the SAME EXACT STORE, this crusty employee hits the “invalid ID” button and takes the cider I was holding out of my hand. THE AUDACITY OF THAT WOMAN. With perhaps a smidge less kindness than what was appropriate, I suggested that she take the rest of the drinks from my bag for me since she had such a big deal (wait it’s about to get more publicly humiliating). When taking one of the bottles from my bag, she hit another sending it plummeting to the ground followed with a cascade of carbonation and shards of glass throughout the immediate vicinity. I looked at her with the largest smirk on my face, with all of the self-righteousness I could muster in that moment and said: “I’m sorry, you can clean that up” and muttered under my breath “that would not have happened if you would have just been decent”, paid for my damn baguette and deodorant and walked out of the store with bystanders left with the aftermath of my stride through the broken glass and fizzy drink. Honestly, I don’t have enough money for a pack of chicken nuggets, how am I possibly going to pay for a drink that some awful woman broke? Karma is rough, perhaps she should have been a little bit more of a decent human being.



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