Red Velvet Underground

July 22, 2010 | 04:42 PM |
From amateursketch, refers to UF Help Desk position: My job often involves interaction with terrified high school  students in town for campus tours. Sadly, our cicerones are NOT the tour  guides of Road Trip fame (perhaps the final, shining moment of Tom  Green’s cultural relevance.) I firmly believe Gator guides are closeted  speed freaks—they move far too quickly, cannot control the volume of  their voice, smile widely when around parents but basically look  exhausted and shoot dirty looks to everyone else. Umm..whatever,  dude…you got a kick ass backpack for your “troubles…” imagine having  to “babysit” a desk…we’ll talk.    Regardless, imagine my  delight when a PURPLE (PURPLE!!) bus rolls up to the building like it  ain’t no thang. WHO was inside that glorious bus? Surely not a tour of  high school students; that brand of entrance was more in line with a  retired Vegas show-girl reunion tour, or traveling drag queen  parade…those actually aboard the bus resemble a marriage of the latter  with the former…..a fucking purple bus FULL of chongas from Marianna,  Florida, on campus. at my job. there is a higher power and he is  lookin’ out for me. Bracing myself for the sudden change in temperature  and saying goodbye for the silence that typically defines my job, I  waited, watching as they exited the bus…it was a glorious sea of gold,  puffy jackets, TIGHT jeans, eyeliner, gel, acrylic… fucking glitter  and desperation. I really dont have the words. About 16 entered with a  haggard looking teacher that must have been ready to commit seppuku…I  cannot express how loud it got in here. They migrated toward the  bathroom before their tour departed and my curiosity got the better of  me…I followed them in and basically waited in the stall like a creep  just to hear what they were talking about. Main topics included this one  girl, who OBVIOUSLY was not there…I couldn’t catch her name but she  was described as a “obese, fat, fucking bitch,” “una puta,” and some  other slang of the Mexican-variety that I could not discern. This was  one of those times I am so grateful to my parents for teaching us both  languages…I would’ve missed out on some many trashy-insult gems but  yet thank the sweet lord I escaped that culture and its dialect. It  could’ve been me…ay dios. Post-Thanksgiving shopping was also widely  discussed…when shit “really goes on sale, bro.” One of them, AWESOME  HIGHLIGHTS, by the way, called me “white girl” before she asked me  question. *Swoon* This magical moment was far too brief and yet, will  certaintly define my history.

From amateursketch, refers to UF Help Desk position:
My job often involves interaction with terrified high school students in town for campus tours. Sadly, our cicerones are NOT the tour guides of Road Trip fame (perhaps the final, shining moment of Tom Green’s cultural relevance.) I firmly believe Gator guides are closeted speed freaks—they move far too quickly, cannot control the volume of their voice, smile widely when around parents but basically look exhausted and shoot dirty looks to everyone else. Umm..whatever, dude…you got a kick ass backpack for your “troubles…” imagine having to “babysit” a desk…we’ll talk. Regardless, imagine my delight when a PURPLE (PURPLE!!) bus rolls up to the building like it ain’t no thang. WHO was inside that glorious bus? Surely not a tour of high school students; that brand of entrance was more in line with a retired Vegas show-girl reunion tour, or traveling drag queen parade…those actually aboard the bus resemble a marriage of the latter with the former…..a fucking purple bus FULL of chongas from Marianna, Florida, on campus. at my job. there is a higher power and he is lookin’ out for me. Bracing myself for the sudden change in temperature and saying goodbye for the silence that typically defines my job, I waited, watching as they exited the bus…it was a glorious sea of gold, puffy jackets, TIGHT jeans, eyeliner, gel, acrylic… fucking glitter and desperation. I really dont have the words. About 16 entered with a haggard looking teacher that must have been ready to commit seppuku…I cannot express how loud it got in here. They migrated toward the bathroom before their tour departed and my curiosity got the better of me…I followed them in and basically waited in the stall like a creep just to hear what they were talking about. Main topics included this one girl, who OBVIOUSLY was not there…I couldn’t catch her name but she was described as a “obese, fat, fucking bitch,” “una puta,” and some other slang of the Mexican-variety that I could not discern. This was one of those times I am so grateful to my parents for teaching us both languages…I would’ve missed out on some many trashy-insult gems but yet thank the sweet lord I escaped that culture and its dialect. It could’ve been me…ay dios. Post-Thanksgiving shopping was also widely discussed…when shit “really goes on sale, bro.” One of them, AWESOME HIGHLIGHTS, by the way, called me “white girl” before she asked me question. *Swoon* This magical moment was far too brief and yet, will certaintly define my history.