Friday at around 6pm- Admittedly, after spending Friday afternoon at the University Center, I was prepared to order food and go to bed. However, I just didn't come to New Orleans to nap. So I slowly got ready to go to the Homecoming Day Party. Sadly, by the time I got there, it was nighttime.
The venue was really, really cute. What wasn't cute was the amount of marijuana smoke in the air. I know that everyone smokes today, yay legalization, but I HATE the smell. It gets in my hair and it's gross. On top of that, there were a lot of younger students/alumni there and for the past few years I have done everything possible to avoid young people in my social space. I am like a 70-year-old woman. I only go to movie matinees. If I go to the mall, it's at 10am on a Sunday. Wherever they are, there tends to be pot smoke, gunfire, fighting, and exposed ass cheeks. No thanks.
I saw a few people from my class that I knew and had a few chit-chats. I even ran into Britain, who was lit off of cocktails and marijuana edibles. I asked for one, he extended his hand to me in offering, but I thought better of it. The only thing that was going to keep me going that night was an injection of Red Bull into my forearm and someone taping my eyelids open.
Just as I was about to get up and leave, No Socials walked down the steps beside me with a blunt in his hand.
"Hey!" he said happily.
"Hey, did you find your people?" I asked him. For some reason, I had the impression that he was alone at homecoming and had decided to come last minute.
"Yeah, just like you remembered me, other people remembered me," he said walking about eight feet in front of me. He stood there, lean like a pole, and faced the direction of the DJ. He then pulled out a lighter and lit his blunt, bobbing his head to the music. Watching him exhale a large cloud of smoke, the stomach pain came again, this time a little more apparent.
"Ouch," I murmured to myself, taking out my phone to get a Lyft ride back to my Air B&B. I am a trust your gut type of person, but there was really no issue that I can think of. Listen yall, repressed memories are real.
No comments:
Post a Comment