Wednesday, February 23, 2005

I Know It's Cold Outside, but Could You Please Just Smoke Up in Your Car Next Time?

I had rounds last night, which means walking the beat on each floor every two hours or so. We usually start around 8pm and finish around midnight – and then keep The Cell Phone overnight in case someone gets inspired to practice their golf swing with real balls in the lobby at 3 in the morning.

At 7:55 last night, my rounds partner for the evening knocked on my door. "Come down to my floor for a minute," she said. When we walked off the elevator, she wrinkled her nose and asked, "Smell that?"

I've been more congested than Seattle's I-5 corridor for the past two weeks, so I told her, honestly, that I didn't smell anything. She pointed at a door. "I think it's coming from there. Do you know what pot smells like?" she asked.

Do I know what pot smells like? Why yes, yes I do. I can't differentiate between Humboldt County and Kentucky Funky and Jamaica's finest, but yeah, I know what pot smells like; it smells like a cross between mint and skunk. And I'd rather not get into how or why I know that.

So I sniffed under the door. Sure enough, a skunk had been rolling in a mint patch. Called the cops. The cops arriveth, inspecteth, and hauleth away to jail.

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In other news, I have a quiz in Linguistics today and later get to go to Senior Seminar, in which we will prepare for the midterm exam. Please, God, please let me pass the midterm exam in that class...

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