Completely Pointless Adventures in Urbana part I

Sometimes it's funny how the smallest of adventures can brighten up an otherwise crappy day. It's also a bit funny how catching the wrong bus can result in one of the above mentioned adventures.

So, today I got a pink slip and kicked out of work. I wasn't fired, per se, but I did get a written warning for the Sunday when I "forgot" to come into work. That wasn't why I got kicked out though. Apparently my penchant for not taking breaks and pulling overtime has gotten me in trouble with the higher-ups so between today and tomorrow I can only work five more hours to keep my regular 40 hour full-time schedule. The sad thing is, I was really behind on work despite working overtime.

Instead of getting off at 6pm (or 9pm as of late), I got off around 2pm. I treated myself to a nice dragon roll from Sushi County (surprisingly good affordable sushi place on campus) and dropped my paycheck (which had a large chunk of it taken out in taxes) off at the bank (so I can pay rent/various debts).

I walked halfway down Green Street when I realized I wasn't wearing the hoodie I had put on to keep away the early late-august morning chill. I would have been all right with leaving it at the bookstore and picking it up later if it wasn't for the fact I had left my apartment keys in the pockets.

By the time I got out of the bookstore, my black and red saddled Chuck Taylor-clad feet were feeling as raw as the tuna roll I saw someone eating at Sushi County. Not knowing the bus schedule, I figured I'd just catch the next bus and hope it ended up somewhere near my apartment.

After riding around parts of Urbana I never knew existed, I ended up in the familiar territory of downtown Urbana. Since the used bookstore there had been closed when my parents and I were there to eat at the Thai place on weekends, I decided to get off the bus before it took me even further away from my apartment. There, I found a copy of Little Red Riding Hood in the Red Light District by Manlio Argueta and You Will Know Our Velocity! by David Eggers (as recommended by Alex).

I also decided to drop by Mirabelle, the local bakery, to pick up yet another treat. The tiramisu was quite good...mascapone be damned for its 90% fat content. My heart may hate me for it later, but it was completely worth it.

I had a conversation with the guy who was working there. Come to think of it, I should have caught his name or at least his major since he's a student here. He seemed to know quite a bit about Latin American history since I mentioned that Little Red Riding Hood in the Red Light District took place in El Salvador sometime around some political upheaval. He basically started an intermittent conversation with me by asking about my books. I mentioned liking some Russian authors after he mentioned that one of the jobs for the CIA from the Cold War he had heard about was to read Russian novels to see if there were any code words to trigger cells into action and such. He asked me if I had read any Tolstoy (which I haven't). Naturally we were interrupted by other patrons and by me taking a seat outside and enjoying a tiramisu and coffee while reading the Argueta book. I vaguely touched on the Freudian interpretation when he mentioned the sociopolitical innuendo of the original story.

When I went inside again to dispose of my plastic container, fork and paper coffee cup, the guy offered me another cup of coffee since he was just going to dump out the container before closing. I accepted despite knowing my lack of tolerence for large amounts of caffeine. I got a bit twitchety, but all I really wanted was an excuse to continue the conversation. The store owner came out and we ended up talking about making it in this country. Apparently, he started the bakery with $2500 he borrowed from his aunt and six months leave from his old job.

That made me think about things on my walk home. If I really want to write, what's stopping me? There were many books in that used book shop by authors I had never heard of, and yet they were probably getting by. I also remembered what the guy (first guy I met) said about how usually great writers usually have something extraordinary happen in their lives which can make them a bit antisocial or eccentric (this was after I mentioned Gogol in the Russian author part of the conversation). So, what's to stop me from making something extraordinary happen in my life?

Maybe it's me.

Then again, I can't help but think about how if I didn't log too much overtime at work or how if I didn't catch the wrong bus, none of this would have happened. I wouldn't have the two books. I wouldn't have had that conversation with the guy who works at Mirabelle, nor would I have learned the partial history of the bakery's owner.

The vague thought that I could be happy here (amended with the addition of the phrase "for a year") occurred to me as I was walking home from work earlier this week. I know I'll have to leave, and with that, have a plan. But for now, I think I could be happy.