Well, first off, I should mention that I’ve been in Germany for the last week. Sorry about not warning you beforehand, but posting last week was impossible with the wretched hostel internet. More on that later.
Anyhow, let me take you through a whirlwind tour of the week of January 20th. On Sunday night, I played poker with the guys in the dorm for about two hours and got only one pair the entire night and had to fold the rest of my hands. I almost never bet anything, but I still lost all of my chips to antes. This is why I don’t play with money. The next day, my luck held out as I went running. A car came careening around a blind corner on an impossibly narrow road and I had to dive into a hedge to save myself from being turned into paté. Clinging to the bush, catching my breath, and laughing, I began to wonder “Why do my arms hurt?” I extricated myself from the shrubbery, revealing arms painted with blood and needled with thorns. Turns out I’d jumped into holly and briar bushes. I spent the next hour after I got back plucking wood from my flesh and cleaning the long scratches that went up to my elbows. I mean, I knew that running was pretty much self-harm, but that put a new spin on it.
The next day I went to help a girl with her Media coursework. I don’t know why these girls keep asking me to help them! This must be the fourth one now! I mean, I don’t mind. If anything I enjoy helping people if I can, but I can’t be the most useful person around. Everyone seems to think I’m some sort of encyclopedia, but I can hardly turn left without getting confused. Oh well. It’s good company, I usually get a laugh out of it, and it’s much better than just spending the time alone in my room or going to the gym. Anyone want help with anything? At all? Please?
A couple days later, those who went to debating were treated to some unhealthy goodies, after which I decided to go work out. Bad idea. Clutching my stomach as I hobbled toward the shower across the hall, a boy named Tom called to me. “Why, hello there Matthew!” he said in his best posh accent. “How are you doing, old boy? You don’t look so well.”
“No, sir, no I’m not too well at all,” I responded in kind. “My stomach seems to be in a bit of a tizzy.” I know that’s not the right word, but it sounded good.
“Oh, dear. Might I ask what happened to you?”
Straightening up and imagining myself with a typical English general’s mustache, I replied “A lot of hot chocolate and a shit load of biscuits before a core workout.”
The next morning I discovered that our housemother is a fundamentalist Christian. Normally this wouldn’t be an issue, but I could not seem to escape, as I was trying to make some toast when she walked in and started talking about ghosts, actually believing that spirits exist. So, of course, the natural progression went straight to talking about souls and God. I just said that I think people can believe whatever they want, but I believe that there is no God and that our “souls” are biological, neural processes, just as mortal as our bodies. Well, she was having none of that. She did not say outright that I was wrong, but she did not accede any of my points regarding evolution or simple anatomy while also referring to the Book of Revelations as prophetic and infallible. “I mean, they predicted stuff way back then, told us when it was going to happen, and then it happened and they could never have known about it without some sort of divine guidance.”
“Well, the people who wrote the books of the new testament were educated and could have noticed how history repeats itself. Nations rise and fall all the time.” I started buttering my bread a little faster, sensing dangerous territory and knowing that I wouldn’t be able to keep my mouth shut.
“No, no! Look what’s happening in Egypt right now! The Book of Revelations said that Egypt would be the first country to disappear.”
“Um, modern Egypt is totally different from the Egyptian empire that existed back then. That empire fell LONG after the Qin dynasty collapsed, not to mention the Mayura empire in India which also fell before Egypt did.”
“No, no! I mean that the people will just vanish. There’ll be nothing left.”
I had to wait a few seconds to bite back the sarcasm. Just in case she hadn’t noticed, I said “Um, there are still a lot of people in Egypt.”
“Yeah, but they’ll all disappear soon.”
“Where does it really say that in the Book of Revelations?”
“Well, I haven’t actually read it yet, but it’s in there.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Have you read the bible?”
“Yes, actually I have read the whole thing and the only logical way that Egypt is going to ‘disappear’ short of nuclear or chemical warfare is if the Sahara desert spreads past the Nile and wipes out their agricultural base, but that won’t happen for another couple of hundred years, by which point Venice (which was also once an empire) will have sunk to the bottom of the sea.” Of course, she was totally unmoved by logic. I don’t know why I bother. It’s just as bigoted of me to preach logic as it is of her to preach fundamentalism when neither of us can know if we’re right.
“Well, believing in God is just a safer bet than being an Atheist, just in case there is a hell.” At that I stuffed my toast in my mouth, said something about work to do, and almost ran out, nearly bowling over one of the cleaning ladies.
That same day I also learned that the chaplain’s name actually is Slim. I thought people had just been making fun of his paunch. The next day, I was asked to read a part of the Old Testament to the school during chapel and, unable to resist, I read it in a Southern Baptist accent. Looking around during my poor impersonation of Samuel L. Jackson, I noticed several people chuckling while the poor lower school girls sitting to my right covered their faces with their orders of service, blushing red like Christmas lights. I walked away like all was normal, sat down, hands shaking, and prepared to get a detention. The chaplain found me speaking with the choir director afterward. Mr. Hurst had just given me a “bollocking” (as the Brits here call it) and I turned toward my doom with my head ready for the noose.
“That was a fantastic reading, Matthew. Would you like to read for us again some time?” Didn’t see that one coming.
What I also failed to predict was the fire alarm that went off at midnight just as I was going to bed. As per protocol, I bundled up in my duvet, grabbed some shoes, and put on my hat and a fake beard. My excuse for the teachers: “It keeps my face warm. Who knows how long we’ll be out here for?” My explanation to the students: “It’s entertaining. Who knows how long we’ll be out here for?” I have decided that wearing this shall be mandatory for every nighttime fire alarm. I donned that outfit five times that week. Yep. Good times.
Saturday rolled around and I went to help with something called “Academy Day.” Pretty much, it’s the day when the school opens its doors for prospective students interested in sports and puts on its best face and lies through its teeth about the food. I went to help the shooting academy (due to my involvement in archery), which consisted of me just firing a fancy re-curve bow at a too-close target for a few hours, trying out a pistol for the first time, and watching the others while people filed in and out, asking the instructors questions and generally ignoring me. Or at least I hope that they were ignoring me. I’m a horrible shot! Anyhow, a few of us older students were watching a Welsh girl and a Polish girl fence. It was a heated bout and “someone” *cough cough* me *cough cough* commented that it was a duel for the ages between the sheep shaggers and the Nazi shagged. The Polish girl scored a point and turned to us. “Sorry, what? Did you say something about Poland?”
“Oh, I was just saying how lovely the people are!”
Thank God she couldn’t hear me through that fencing helmet.
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