A birthday remix to remember
It was somebody’s birthday last Thursday, or so says the clump of girls that have stumbled into NYPD on South University Avenue after all the bars have closed.
“It’s (Birthday Girl’s) birthday!” announces one girl. The giddy gang begins belting out the birthday song over celebratory slices.
A group of guys – draped in oversized jackets and looking young enough for me to guess they’re still enrolled in Pioneer High School classes – saunter over to the girls.
One says, “OK, Stevie Wonder version!” and, on cue, they all start serenading “Ha-ppy birth-day to you-” for the birthday girl.
In case you’re unfamiliar, the Stevie Wonder version is infinitely better than the classic version. The girls cheer after the guys finish, and the spontaneous singers make their way out of the restaurant under the eyes of onlookers.
Probably perceiving the skepticism, though, one of the guys yells, “Yeah, we go here,” finally adding “I’ll show you my MCard. We go here.”
When I walked into the party and was greeted by several of my friends I got a confidence boost.
“Great sweater!” one friend said. The others agreed – it was a great sweater.
A couple minutes into the party, I began to notice other people’s clothing. “Why is everyone wearing plaid?” I asked.
“It’s a 90s party,” my friend responded. “Wait, you didn’t dress up for it?”
No, I hadn’t known.
Shamefaced, I diverted my eyes to my Keds and pondered what it meant to be mistaken for a caricature of 1996.
A strange bus ride
I boarded a University bus for the first time last week. It was crowded beyond capacity and I found myself without a seat, unbalanced and – at 5’1″ – a bit too short.
I barely reached the handrail. The bus lurched forward, causing me to crash backwards into a body behind me.
At the next stop, I propelled forward into another unsuspecting student. I faced my new acquaintance and smiled weakly.
“Sorry,” I said. She flashed a thin smile before returning to the groove of her iPod.
I quickly found a new place to stand since this one obviously wasn’t working. As it turned out, the next seat didn’t work, either. I crashed into a pole and onto the floor. I brought myself up with as much dignity as I could muster.
After regaining my composure, this time I held tight, waiting for Pierpont Commons. It wasn’t until the bus pulled in front of C.C. Little again that I realized I had missed my stop.