It was Wednesday.
It wasn't an especially happy day. Actually, it was a pretty rough one. Life's been tough lately, and the past week would have to be ranked pretty high up on the 'Top-Ten-Most-Sucky-Weeks-Ashley's-Lived-Through' list.
I hadn't really slept in two nights. I'm stressed because the semester is winding up to the end, and everything has to be done at once. I had already been to school and back once that day and was not really thrilled to have to go back to hand in a paper that I hadn't wanted to write about something I have absolutely no interest in.
You get where I'm going with this?
The Schaffer was on a very thin edge.
I was walking up the hill on the opposite side of the street from Greek Row. The weather on Wednesday was gorgeous and beautiful and lovely. And what the frat boys do when the weather is sunny and nice is take off their shirts and climb up on top of their fraternity houses and yell back and forth at each other with megaphones.
[Mom -- do you remember if they did this back when you went to school here? I'm curious now.]
Anyway, so I was walking up the hill. I was walking barefoot carrying my shoes because it was a nice day and I felt like it, but that doesn't really factor into the story. And the frat boys were shouting around on their megaphones but I wasn't paying any attention to what they were saying because usually when they shout to anyone who isn't one of their buddies it's directed to some girl somewhere wearing a leather mini-skirt and entirely too much eyeliner. Seeing as I was wearing neither of those things, precedent suggested that I would be able to safely walk up the hill completely under the radar.
Not so, my friends. Not so.
Because suddenly interrupting my walk up the hill came this loud voice. And it said, "Hey you!"
At that point I didn't know the dude was talking to me.
He decided to get more specific. "You in the red shirt!"
I was wearing a red shirt. It's a very nice dark red shirt with long sleeves, and I'm very fond of it. It goes well with my hair. And then I realized with chagrin that the guy with the megaphone was shouting at me.
I turned sort of halfway around so that I could determine which house he was standing atop [Seriously, is this weird to no one else but me?], and then kept walking up the hill.
Megaphone-dude apparently wasn't expecting that. "Wait," he said. "Don't keep walking. I'm trying to talk to you."
I was becoming miffed that the guy assumed that because he felt like pointing his megaphone at me I would be interested in interacting with him. But I just kept walking, because experience has proved that if you ignore the stupid college boys they will eventually go away.
"Turn around," the guy called down, injecting what I'm assuming was supposed to be a convincing sort of whine into his voice.
I didn't turn around.
Apparently he didn't get the hint, because he kept talking. "Come on, baby, don't be like that."
I stopped walking then.
Nobody calls me "baby". Nobody. Especially not some stupid college frat boy who thinks he has the right to keep talking to me when I was clearly ignoring him. And at that moment, I finally had a person with whom I could be angry.
So I turned to face the guy. And I made sure he was looking at me.
And I flipped him off.
And I turned right back around and kept walking up the hill, actually smiling for the first time in two days. Because I'd done it. I'd been rude. To a stranger. And I didn't feel a single ounce of regret.
It was glorious.
I could still hear the guys up on their rooftop. The one who had been shouting at me turned to his buddy and asked, "Did she just flip me off?"
"I think so," was the buddy's response.
Wow indeed. I took a different route home ten minutes later after dropping off my paper, still smiling.