September 2, 2010

A Day in the Life of a Rambler

Print More

[Note appended Jan. 24, 2011]

“If Subway is willing to pay me to write a column about their sandwiches, should I accept?”“No,” says my editor Tony. “Why not?“Haven’t you heard of journalistic integrity?”“Who?”Tony puts his hands over his head and begins to softly sob. I have a strange suspicion that he’s saddened by something but I shrug my shoulders and continue to eat my foot-long chicken breast sandwich on wheat bread (for only $5 at your local Subway!)*.  I am in mid chew when I realize my first column prints tomorrow and all I have to show for it are drops of honey mustard speckled over my spiral notebook. I force myself to put down the sandwich and begin jotting down some essential truths about myself: • I am a Sun columnist. Therefore, I am vain and opinionated. • Coincidently, I feel good when I write about myself. I decide to write down all the things I did yesterday. Perhaps that will pass as a column. Hooray for half-assed journalism! 7:00 a.m. — I wake up and check to see if my limbs are intact. Whew, turns out that bear mauling was a dream after all. To play it safe, I check under my bed for bears. 8:00 a.m. — I confirm that the apartment is a bear free zone.9:00 a.m. — Showered and hair gelled, I walk out the door and head to class. The weather is perfect. Today is a new day. 9:01 a.m. — I begin scraping off the eggs thrown at my car. 9:30 a.m. — DAMN THESE EGGS TO HELL! I decide to walk it to class. I’m halfway up Eddy Street when it begins to rain. My umbrella is open yet my elbows and arms are wet. I realize that my umbrella is too small and was not intended for broad shouldered and handsome young men such as myself. 10:10 a.m. — I read my poetry in a creative writing class. My professor frowns at my poem titled 8 Equals Uppercase d. 11:30 a.m. — Dump.12:30 p.m. — Lunch.1:30 p.m. — Dump.2:12 p.m. — I get a call from my editor Tony. He tells me my latest column fails to “meet the lowest standards of journalism.” I ask him if I can apply to be a sex columnist. He tries to say something but seems to be overcome by laughter. 3:28 p.m. — For some reason, a pretty girl decides to sit next to me. I decide to conjure up the ol’ charm. Me: Hello foxy lady. My name is Amyn. Girl: I know who you are. Listen freak, I have mace. She’s obviously playing hard to get. I write my number on a Post-it and try a pickup line I’ve been working on. Me: Hey, you’ve got something on your back.She turns around. I smack my Post-it on her back. 3:35 p.m. — MAAACCCEEE OHHH MY GODD MY EYES FEEELLLL LIKKKE DEATH!! MAAACCCEEE!!!4:28 p.m. — One hour later and she still hasn’t called me. There’s probably something wrong with my phone.  5:21 p.m. — My dyslexia ruins me again. I am sitting in an Accounting Club meeting instead of my 1:25 entomology class. I make the best of a bad situation. The speaker is a real fancy talker but soon I begin to lose interest.  I spend the rest of the meeting drawing sketches of myself in dramatic and pensive poses. Maybe I’ll submit these and shove it up Tony’s stupid face.  6:30 p.m. — I meet my imaginary girlfriend Deshanna for dinner at Plum Tree. Yes, judgmental reader, DeShanna’s imaginary. But I don’t care, she’s been there for me ever since that time I went crazy. Dinner feels somewhat tense. We’ve hit that six-month lull in the relationship and hardly have anything to talk about. It doesn’t seem like she wants her sake bomb. I chug it to impress her. 3:00 a.m. — I wake up in a dumpster in downtown Cortland. That sake bomb must have done me in. I climb out quickly — if there’s one thing dumpsters attract, it’s bears. I look down and am relieved that the fly of my pants is zipped. Thank God, that could’ve been really embarrassing.

*Your ad here! Amyn Bandali is a senior in the College of Agriculture and Life Sciences. He may be contacted at abandali@cornellsun.com. Ramblings appears alternate Fridays this semester.

[Ed. note: In January 2011, this columnist was revealed to have used passages that were identical or nearly identical to passages found in Andrew Webb’s ’08 column, Confessions of a Mental Patient. For a full explanation of the situation and the reactions from Sun editors, click here.]

Original Author: Amyn Bandali