Jerry and I were discussing this the other night, how both of us couldn�t wait to just finish already when we reached our final semesters in college. Somehow it just loses its novelty and becomes a pain in the ass around the second-to-last semester. You can see the end, but it looks so far away. But then it finally arrives and you realize a few months later when you�re stuck in some crap job that you kind of wish you were back in college. Then you wonder this to yourself: how could you not have seen that working a part time job and being able to hang out with your friends all day was such a good thing?? God, you stayed out until all hours of the night and now you�re old and in bed early because you have to get up for work in the morning. What were you thinking??

So now here I am, many jaded years later, sitting at a job I tolerate just because of the sweet benefits, reminiscing about an old man. I should be working right now, but I have nothing to do. I�m sick of sitting here, staring at an empty inbox and thinking of ways to keep busy. That shit gets old fast. Some days it�s fun to be able to flit around from here to there, cruising through some online reads, but today is not one of them. But back to the old man � this morning I stopped off to pick up breakfast on my way to work and noticed an old man standing a few people ahead of me in line. Actually, what I really noticed about him was the pair of pants he was wearing. They were sky blue fake denim sans-a-belt pants, and I just wanted to go up and hug him because they reminded me of college days and those pants.

I went to a college that was mostly a commuter school, so when we had breaks between classes, a group of us hung out upstairs in the cafeteria. We sat in an alcove that housed a big window that overlooked the middle of the quad. They were "our" tables. I think other students picked up on this silent understanding and mostly left the area open for us. When we weren�t stuffing our faces with pie or reenacting scenes from Coming to America, we would people watch. And lo, it was some good people watching. Lucy and I found some of the members of our semi-annual Top Ten Guys on Campus List that way. (That's an entirely different entry in itself) Since we all met up at some point or another every day, we were able to notice certain people on campus that we saw freqeuently and create nicknames for them. There was �The Bee Guy,� who, aside from being famous for maniacally trying to swat away some insect for a good fifteen minutes one day (running around like a ninny the entire time. And yes, I said �ninny.� It�s a good word), was also known for his skillful maneuvering of a lunch tray during a particularly windy day. (It involved lots of backwards and sideways walking, along with some random swatting thrown in for good measure.) Then there was �The Guy Who Talks To Himself,� who actually got his nickname before coming to school there. This guy worked as a stocker in my supermarket, and he would just stand there and have these elaborate conversations with himself while stocking the shelves. You could see his mouth moving, but couldn�t hear much until you got really close to him. Naturally, some people would be inclined to keep a safe distance from such a person, as I should point out that he also looked quite insane in addition to the whole talking thing. He had a quite unfortunate mullet and would sometimes flip his head around almost angrily, perhaps when he was arguing with himself. In any case, my friends and I would go over to the next aisle to hear him whispering, just to be on the safe side.

But back to the quad. �The Girl With the Sewn Face� was a popular one, as that is exactly how she looked. It wasn�t from any scars or anything, she was just very scrunchy. Renee Zellweger looks quite normal compared to this girl. My friend Bill dubbed her the �bastion� of ugliness, pointing out that she went out of her way to bring attention to her looks by getting an unflattering pixie cut and dressing in fashion nightmares. I had a tendency to disagree on that point, saying she was celebrating it instead. Hell, she looked to get more play than I ever did, so she was doing something right. My personal favorite was �John Makin� Copies,� who was a beautiful, beautiful boy from Portugal. He had a flawless face and this shiny chin-length hair. Also? Soccer player. Yum squared. Every time he walked by I would stop and salivate. He was my bell and I was his Pavlov dog. Or something. Anyway, we deduced that this guy had an afternoon job on campus that required him to walk across the quad some days to go make copies. One day he came by and was looking especially hot, so I convinced my friend Mark to come with me to follow him. In hindsight, this was both a good and a bad idea. The plan was supposed to be to walk by the copy room very nonchalantly and just peer in to get a closer look at the guy. Well, it was all going so well until Mark decided to walk right in and go up to the guy and introduce himself. He then came out into the hallway where I was freaking out and pulled me into the room and said, �Pam, this is John. John, this is Pam. Okay, bye!� Then he LEFT. I was mortified. I don�t even remember what I said, but it wasn�t much before I fled the scene and tracked down a still-laughing Mark in order to kill him. That story does have a good ending, though, as I ended up becoming good friends with John, even to the point where he�d sometimes come and snuggle up to me when I was sitting in a booth between classes. He�d have his arm around me with his head laying on me, and I�d just be sitting there and laughing to myself about how the whole thing started. He also used to call me �P.J.� which was just too cute in my book.

Man, am I rambling. If you�re still reading, I owe you a medal or something. Anyway, I think the point of all of this was the overall favorite for our group of people watchers � Grandpa Pants. Oh, how we loved Grandpa Pants. He was this little old man who used to come to the campus just to walk. He�d be there year-round, cold weather be damned! He used to wear one of those little golf-like caps � I don�t know what they�re called and I�m too lazy to look it up, but you know what I mean. The little old man hats - in golf they have pom-poms on the top. Anyway, he always wore one of those, but it was the pants that we loved. I think he got all of his pants in the Sunday paper coupon section � you know the pants. Sans-a-belt, polyester pants in solids and plaids. He was SO adorable. He�d just zip along in his yellow pants and we�d all be so happy to see him, shouting, �Grandpa Pants!!!! Yay!� At one point, he disappeared for a few weeks and had us all quite worried. Thankfully, he reemerged in Grandpa Pants style, sporting some new plaid numbers and looking as smiley as ever.

I miss Grandpa Pants. I miss Mama, the cafeteria worker who use to talk to herself in the third person. Once when realizing she was giving me the wrong change, she exclaimed, �Oh Mama, what the hell?� Lucy and I still say that to each other on occasion. I miss the guy with the dirty dog who used to cruise the quad, trying to pick up chicks with a blackened poodle. I miss the Socialist who would stand outside in his sweater that was two-sizes too small, trying to peddle his self-penned magazine. I miss the friends I don�t see anymore, who would sit with me for hours at a time, people watching and talking about silliness and nothing, and having a blast doing it. I miss the first warm day of spring, when we would all blow off class and sit in the sun out on the quad before heading off to throw around a nerf football. I miss being free like that. I miss the end of the semester celebration where we�d get to bounce around inside inflatable domes for FAR too long (and where Lucy once knocked me silly in a bouncy boxing ring with gigantic gloves because I was busy checking out a boy). I miss the scavenger hunt where I was always the one who had the 78 rpm record. I miss The Bee Guy. I miss the feeling that life was pretty good at particular spans of time. I miss the lack of worries. The classes and schoolwork � yeah, I don�t miss those. At all.

But I do miss Grandpa Pants.

I wonder if he�s still there.

Comments? Sign the book! (They're still wonky)

before & after





2007-09-26 - Follow Me!
2006-09-30 - Site Move & Favorite Entries
2006-09-25 - Evil Easter Bunnies & Rock Climbing!
2006-09-22 - Shameful-Purchase Hiding & A New Dentist Plan
2006-09-19 - Birthday Picture/Video Diary & The Wheelmobile





Copyright 2003-2006 by Sockgirlie. Stealing is wrong.