As I was sitting there drinking my grape soda that I’m pretty sure was eight months old, I thought of my week in review. It was a slightly boring week. Nothing really exciting going on. I was dreaming of Fall Break.Then something occurred to me: I got super annoyed this past week over something so miniscule that I should have just kept walking. But it’s me, and I can’t leave a miniscule thing alone. Which made me wonder…how many arguments could I have avoided by just walking away?On Monday morning I awoke slowly from my bed. Something smelled odd. I soon found out that it was a spilled jar of pickles festering in the corner. The smell could have gagged even Oscar the Grouch. It was 9:42 a.m.After falling out of my lofted bed and nearly breaking my right leg, I tried to find something that resembled the word “clean,” but I found my attempts faltering. 9:47 a.m., now. I’m running out of time to make my 10:00 class.I decided on going with a mustard yellow t-shirt and silver gym shorts (If a fashion police existed, I would promptly be tasered and put into jail without the possibility of parole). My class was on the other side of campus, so I had some galloping to do. As I started my trek, someone in my peripheral vision caught my attention. He was steadily picking up speed and finally shouted, “Excuse me!” in a Russian accent.Oh my gosh, was I going to die? Was he sent here to kidnap me for some gigantic military program? Was I just a normal guy about to be captured by Angelina Jolie, then sent to a top secret training facility where Morgan Freeman taught me how to fire a gun and then somehow defy physics and bend a bullet after firing it, creating a cacophony of awful filmmaking and screenwriting so bad it makes “Meet the Spartans” look like “The Godfather?” No, of course not. That was the film “Wanted,” and it gets a grade of epic fail.”Oh…yeah…what’s going on, man?””Could I get the time?” he said pointing at his wrist.Normally this wouldn’t bother me, but I was running late (literally) and furthermore, he pointed at his wrist. What’s wrong with that, you might ask? I’ll tell you.He pointed at the watch like I didn’t know where it was, implying that I was an idiot. I am not an idiot. I can name all the U.S. presidents, I drive a Toyota Matrix, and I can fix any computer (usually in most cases it’s a System 32 problem, and you should delete it as soon as possible). I am hardly an idiot. Did he honestly think I had no idea where my watch was? Thank you for the clue, Alex Trebek.”No, I’m sorry I don’t have time, man,” I told him.”Are you sure?” he asked.”Yes, I’m sure that I don’t wear a watch!”I told him to go to the Meadows building where he could find a clock, and find out the time. He smiled and said thank you over and over again. I felt a little bad due to the fact that all the clocks in that building are about one hour and six minutes behind schedule. I should have given him that info beforehand but it didn’t occur to me to inform him of this.I guess I could have looked on my iPhone.

John Paul Green is a freshman theater major. He can be reached for comment at [email protected].