Solitary, excruciatingly boring duty post on work study shift at dining hall.

People-watching at its finest.

K, the girl who I spoke to the first week of school. Always wears a forced smile; no one notices. I do. She and I have talked a few times. She never remembers my name. I wish her the best because there’s no helping someone who doesn’t want to be helped. A and T (ha), the sophomore couple who I first met separately as I made the audition circles of the a cappella groups I didn’t, then, know were so notoriously elitist; she was in the group whose callback I accepted; he in the group whose callback I desired most and did not get. They are notoriously elitist. They are frosty. They are heartwarming to watch. I smile as they walk past, she half a head taller than him, alto and tenor, unlikely and amusing pair. They know each other better than the other does. S, the perpetually frazzled but always smiling one, gorgeous and tall for being who she is, too many responsibilities. My entire hallway, it seems, files past where I stand in a cliquey procession, calling greetings and joking about perpetually standing here.

And my colleagues, with whom I sometimes while away the dull hours; E, the headstrong, amazing woman who has been struggling to be financially independent since her parents withdrew support from her when she was a junior in high school and a recently outed lesbian; accepted twice to the best universities in the country, first after high school and second when the university she attended was too expensive for her straits; on support from financial aid and a generous scholarship for students in her unique situation. Also an indie musician who just released her latest album two weeks ago. Singer, songwriter, amazingly optimistic and open-hearted. K, the gangly, endearing physics major; has an older girlfriend, graduated last year, she lives in Tokyo, he regales me with tales of her background and we swap commuting-for-other-people stories. We also gripe about it. It works. A, an international student, senior, very amiable and generally a good sort of person to be around when you’re not feeling terribly happy; likes tiramisu.

—

And now, moments with my roommate:

“…Dude, the last time I helped someone dye their hair, I was helping my mom cover her grays.”

“Hey, I dye my hair’s friend blonde all the time–”

“…”

“…”

“…?”

“…my friend’s hair. Shut up. SHUT UP THAT WAS SO BLONDE–”

“–AHAHAHA WELL, I MEAN, IF YOU TWO ARE FRIENDS THEN MAYBE YOUR HAIRS ARE FRIENDS TOO–”

“SHUT UP.“

—

“Do you want a piece of sushi? There’s two left.”

“We can rock paper scissors for the avocado one.”

“If you want avocado, you can have it, you know.”

“Nah, it’s just a good way to figure out how to split things.”

“Er…”

“Roll dice? Largest number? I’ll play you in cards?”

“…”

[in both dialogues, I am the first one speaking, and it alternates from there on. -cackles-]

—

How do you convince a friend who you’re fond of and is like a little brother to you that no, voting for Huckabee isn’t a good idea because it’s “cool that he’s an ordained minister”?

Good god, this boy lives in Texas and he thinks that Obama is Muslim because someone told him so. They call him “Osama Obama.” My heart’s simply breaking.