Woo-HOOO, y’all, what a trip! Many things to relate, so let’s dive on in.
First of all, when your alma mater was so chock full of dumbassery when you were trying to graduate that hardly a day passed that you didn’t have a tiny aneurysm… there is no reason to expect them to have gotten better while you’ve been gone. In fact, they may have gotten WORSE — not only did the idiots book the reservations at a hotel 16 miles away and then tell us to meet them at a different one… (yes, Virginia, a large metropolitan area IS allowed to have more than one Embassy Suites!), then they somehow managed to forget that a bunch of dorky white kids should NOT be runnin’ around
most certain parts of The Nati at night… but Jesus gave them a flat tire, so they may in fact be cursed instead of stupid.
#2 — Having your own press credentials turns you into a TOTAL SHITHEAD. All the little students were in awe of the backstage broadcast booth tour at the ballpark… but me and Chuckweasel, as members of the actual “working press,” were constantly breaking away from the group to look for free sandwiches (that’s all reporters eat, is free sandwiches). BUT — Jeff Brantley touched my arm, y’all!
On a related note, I’ve been out of college long enough that my legend has faded (sigh), but Chuckweasel was there recently enough that some of these kids still think of him as the BMOC Rock Star of the Department kind of guy. Basically, he’s Ferris Bueller. Unfortunately, that means I’m Sloan Petersen… with all these sad little Camerons trying to get wit’ dis. Awww, ain’t it cute. Especially when they think I’m bitching about the bad part of town because I’m in need of protection… no, honey, I just really didn’t wanna have to kick any hobo ass ON MY VACATION.
More tomorrow… including the Number One Best Thing About Traveling With Chuckweasel… same bat time, same bat channel!