There was a girl sitting behind me who was interested in me. She made little excuses to talk, and pretty soon, she was sitting next to me. We talked about ourselves while causual contact was abundant. Eventually she learned that I would never go to that school again and that made her sad.
She found out I took nerdy classes (like AP BC Calculus) and said none of her older friends would have known me since they didn't take those kinds of classes. She was really worried about not seeing me again, but I told her I would be riding the bus to college.
She then laughed, and told me I wouldn't be riding it from the high school, and that's what mattered. She then said, while she was laughing, "You smart kid, you can do any certain task so easily, but when it comes to making general conclusions..."
Pretty soon it was my stop. I got off the bus. Then I noticed I hadn't gotten any contact information from her.
To get practice for the next performance, I went to Best Buy or a similar store to shop for MJ videos. I found a number of videos and CD's hung up on a hardware rack, but "Thriller" was not among them. Instead I picked up a Jackie Chan movie and took it home.
I was in the Chan tape, supposedly a humorous short. I climbed into a plane, where I had to deal with a white-haired fellow who demanded that the plane change its destination for him. For the first minute or so, his lips were poorly synced with the dubbing. When told that the rest of the passengers would be sorely inconvenienced by a change, he insisted that his wife was expecting him and he had no other way of getting to her in time. Finally he was put out on the parking lot where the plane was, and escorted away by several security guards. The airline employees took me to the back of the plane (the interior of which was similar to the YCM tour bus), where I was to pilot it. I was well known for botching up flights, but everyone had great faith that I would do fine. I started taxiing, but as I wandered around shopping center and school parking lots, I couldn't find the runway. I attempted taking off in a few clear spaces, though I nearly forgot to turn on the engines, but the strips were never long enough. Finally I found a crumbling, sloped, overgrown area where the runways were set up. I took the plane to the top of a hill at one end and started to turn around, but one of the attendants told me, "No! You need to angle up. Up, so you can take off." I took the plane to the opposite end of the runway, then, and positioned it in front of a long body of water. I asked my advising attendant if I needed to radio for clearance. He said it wasn't necessary, but I could if I wanted. I picked up the microphone. "Control, this is, um, a 747, requesting clearance for takeoff." The response came, sleepily: "A 747? Oh, yeah, you're fine." With a shrug, I set down the mike and started the plane forward, pulling back hard on the wheel. We lifted up into the air, and I thought happily that I might actually be successful. The nose was too high, however--we were climbing at a shallower angle than we were pointed. The plane bumped some treetops, a telephone pole, and the top of a building. I tried to turn the plane around to get on course, but we just landed across a city street. I was worried that approaching cars might hit us. Suddenly we were in the parking lot again and I, shaking my head, picked the plane up under my right arm and walked away.
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