Today I learned that I can’t escape the crazy. The crazy is omnipresent like the holy ghost or roaches.
First, crazy invades the porch: I am reading on the porch when this French guy named Jan comes up and asks me where he could find “affordable housing.”
I explain to him that the area is mostly fraternity and sorority houses. And, being French, Jan has no idea what the whole greek-life shindig is about.
“Well, at least for undergrads, you typically pay a lot of money and get harassed for six weeks to be part of this semi exclusive organization. This one here is for law students, so we skip the hazing and extraneous fees. What? You don’t know what a lawyer is? Eh…we are those older kids with the thick books that aren’t going to be doctors.”
More questions from Jan, including why American houses are so dirty – I don’t know, because they aren’t French? Jan eventually left. Took forever and a dose of awkward.
I went inside and told one of the housemates about my encounter with the Frenchman. My housemate grinned and said, “Hm, funny. I had the same conversation with him when he came by yesterday.”
Le wtf?
So, the porch isn’t safe from crazy. Fine. Crazy is out in public, at cafes, and right there on my porch…little did I know that crazy had also been in my room.
When I returned to my room I found my miniature lay figure knocked over on my desk. There was also a two year old fraternity application in the middle of my room.
I looked around, halfway worried that crazy was still in the room or that something had been swiped.
Hm. No, everything was still in place….
… the only thing missing was my sense of privacy.
