In my never ending pursuit of procrastination, so far today I have dropped off my parking space rental check, chatted with a friend at the department for an hour, gotten coffee at Memorial Union (where not only did I pick one wrong lid but after picking the right lid, I realized that THEY HAD ALREADY GIVEN ME A LID AND I HAD TAKEN IT OFF TO PUT IN SOME SUGAR AND SET IT RIGHT NEXT TO THE CUP), walked home and hung out with a friend, gone back out for Lao cuisine for dinner, ate (but in my defense, spent the whole time reading and came out with a paragraph), went to College Library to get a book (but in my defense, wrote two whole pages), then came home and talked to my dad for a while before watching Family Guy and doing today’s crossword puzzle.
So, obviously, it’s time for a story.
It was…well, I can’t tell you the year, as well as some other details in this story.
Wow, great start.
So this one time, I was working in the costume shop of one of the 43981058 universities that I have attended. I wasn’t on the payroll, just a volunteer, so I got kinda the random tasks, but I never minded because they were always fun. Out of nowhere, a bunch of boxes appeared. They were, apparently, “donations.” It wasn’t just one or two boxes; it was about five HUGE boxes full of stuff. My task was to sort through them and “put like things together.” All I was told was that it was the belongings of a recently deceased faculty member, donated by her son. I opened one box, and out came blouses and lots of t-shirts referencing Frankenstein. So apparently she was either an English professor, or had a weird obsession with the macabre. The next box had skirts and dresses, including a beautiful red chiffon cocktail dress that I immediately put on a mannequin so that everyone could see it in the morning. It ended up replacing a dress in the upcoming show (unfortunately not The Dress From Hell, aka a lightly stained baby-blue lace dishrag that was so old and decrepit but the director loved and insisted on putting on the tallest and prettiest girl in the cast, who looked amazing in it, but tore at least three holes from dancing in it every night, so that by the end of the run was more a collection of stitches than a garment) so that worked out great. I was having a good time.
The next box, I reached in, and pulled out…
A FISTFUL OF PANTIES.
Yes. Panties.
Not only that, but pantyhose, leggings, bras, swimwear, and an ugly neon sweatsuit from the 80s.
But seriously, panties? Who in their mind would donate something to charity that you can’t even return to a store even with a receipt? Obviously, this lady’s son, or whoever packed and sealed the boxes. I sure hope they washed everything. Just typing that sentenced made me realize that…::gulp:: you know what, let’s just assume it was all clean.
The other three boxes were of no consequence.
Then, I found out who the clothing belonged to. I’m not going to reveal her identity, but she was a very well-known member of the faculty who was not only a professor in the English department, but at one point the Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences and one of the world’s leading experts on Mary Shelley and Frankenstein. And just for kicks, I googled her about thirty seconds ago, and…she even has a Wikipedia page. She’s a real person, as far as the world’s concerned.
And that’s how I got in the dean of my school’s underpants.
That’s So Jacob 