Most colleges have interesting traditions that occur throughout the year. Some have giant football tailgates. Others have concerts in the quad. My college does a thing called Big Brew. Every Thursday morning at exactly 10:15 a.m., the admissions office offers students and faculty an opportunity to socialize by serving free snacks and coffee (hence the name "Big Brew") in the amphitheater. Each Big Brew offers a different snack, so every Thursday morning, I wait impatiently for the highly anticipated e-mail stating which snack would be offered that week.
This past Thursday's Big Brew e-mail revealed the best Big Brew of all: french toast sticks! I'm very particular about the breakfast foods that I put in my mouth, and french toast sticks come second only to muffins, and since muffins weren't the food item that was served at Big Brew that particular morning, the french toast sticks would be an acceptable substitute.
I walked into my first class of the day, American Novel, with a smile on my face; it would only be about an hour and fifteen minutes until I would be devouring sweet, delicious french toast sticks. The class went by quickly, and soon I was standing in the amphitheater chatting it up with my friends, holding a plate piled high with sweet, french-toasty goodness and a cup of warm maple syrup.
About two minutes into my conversation, I realized that I forgot to look in my garage for my sorority's informational trifold; this particular Thursday marked the beginning of rush season, so this trifold was an absolute necessity. I didn't have long to run home and grab the trifold, so I left Big Brew right away. With my plate of french toast sticks in hand, I said my goodbyes to my friends and made my way to my car.
When I reached my car, a thought came to my head: "Am I going to be able to make it to my house with this plate of deliciousness intact?" I pondered this thought for a moment. "Screw it," I said, possibly aloud. "I shall not conform to man's views of what breakfast foods can and cannot be safely transported in a motor vehicle."
Proudly, I unlocked my car, opened the door, and sat down in the driver's seat, placing my french toast sticks on top of the CD compartment in the center console. I slowly backed out of my parking spot, and, after I realized that my delicious plate of breakfast magnificence might not be in the safest position, I moved the plate from the CD compartment to my lap. After only a few drops of syrup making their way out of the syrup cup onto the plate from the bumpiness of the bricks on Main Street, my french toast sticks and I made it safely from campus to my house. Seated in the security of my driveway, I decided to eat a french toast stick before I went to my garage to look for the trifold.
Upon entering my garage, I was filled with a certain dread: the trifold wasn't there. Not only did this mean that I put the life of my french toast sticks at risk by returning home to find a trifold, it meant that there was a possibility that the trifold was missing. In a bit of a panic, I got back in my car, french toast sticks sitting back on top of the CD compartment, and made my way back to campus, this time, with less caution; I had made it safely to my house with the french toast sticks, so nothing could stop me from making it back to campus with my french toast sticks... right?
Wrong. A bumpy brick road could stop me. As I accelerated from the stop sign at the intersection of McPherson and Main Street, I hit the bricks with too much speed; the plate of breakfast-y, french-toasty tastiness slid forward off of the CD compartment, sending the remaining french toast sticks into the crevice between the passenger seat and the center console and the cup of syrup directly onto the case of my Hamilton CD that was leaning against my parking brake.
I was entirely speechless. My french toast sticks had gone to waste, and, at the very least, my Hamilton CD case was incredibly sticky. I reached campus, parked my car, and stared at my center console in disbelief. How could I have fallen so far? I played God, putting my precious french toast sticks at stake, only to cause my own betrayal. Cautiously, I removed the french toast sticks, now empty syrup cup, and Hamilton CD case from their resting places, and dejectedly made my way to the writing center where I disposed of my wasted french toast sticks and left my CD case for safe keeping.
I went to the Greek Life advisor's office to see if he knew where the trifold was. Lo and behold, the trifold was sitting in the corner of his office amongst a stack of other trifolds. A wave of emotions rushed over me. On one hand, I was joyful; the trifold was not missing. On the other hand, my fateful trip home to search for the trifold was pointless. I could have stayed on campus and enjoyed my french toast sticks in peace, but instead, I made an unnecessary trip that ended in an unnecessary loss.
Readers, this sad, sad tale does not come without an important moral. Heed this advice, and you will surely prosper: do not tempt fate, especially when tempting fate could end in a sticky, syrupy mess all over your car.
