Eruantale

My friends and I took an English Literature class during fall term, for which we had to do a group project. Knowing this in advance, and with full awareness that we would otherwise have to work on the project during National Novel Writing Month, we grouped up and made a game plan within the first few weeks of class. Our idea? Retell the story of Beowulf through a Facebook news feed. The result? Total madness.

The details:

• We used twelve key characters to tell the story: Shield Sheafson, Beowulf, Hrothgar, Grendel, Grendel’s Mom (Cordelia), Unferth, Wealhtheow, the watchman on the coast (Tim), a bard (Jimmy, whose tales always seemed very awkward to us), Hygelac, the dragon (Wyrm), and Wiglaf.
• Each character’s personalities were either made up or expanded to absurdity. Beowulf is full of himself. Wealhtheow likes to party. Unferth just can’t get over that swimming contest. Tim is hyper sensitive about the fact that he can’t leave his post. Hygelac is the Burger King—enough said.
• References had to be made to things such as Monty Python, the Blues Brothers, Zelda, Indiana Jones, Lord of the Rings, Hamlet and Star Wars. Naturally.
• Sometimes we were laughing way too hard or typing too fast to be bothered with spell checking things. Considering this is Facebook, we figured it was appropriate to leave things that way.
• Although we found it easiest to present the news feed in the correct order utilizing Flickr, these profiles do still exist on Facebook. So does the Anglo-Saxon love story quiz—it has a very low rating on the Quizzes application. I guess people didn’t realize it was a joke. For the record, those are actual Anglo-Saxon stories.

Needless to say, Daisy, Sam, Sarah, and I got an A on the project.

On Friday last, a classmate of mine discovered
that you are actually giving away the energy drinks marked one dollar
for a mere ten cents,
so it seems that you may have changed your ways.
In fact, you gave me back a quarter
when I put in a dollar for an iced honeybun last month,
which I thought was very nice of you.
But now I’m not sure about any of the prices you have listed.
You require exact change, but what is it?
Is it sixty-five cents, as marked?
Or is it actually sixty?
This is important, because sometimes I have a nickel
and sometimes I don’t.
I guess I will just try my luck.
Either that, or I will bring a dollar bill,
since you seem to like those so much.
It’s Tuesday, and I need something sweet
to cheer me up before I go take my dreaded math quiz.
A candy bar will do the trick, I’m sure.
Here is my dollar.
It’s nice and crispy, unlike the last one you rejected
for being too floppy and wrinkled.
You gobble it up in delight
and I smack my lips in anticipation.
This time I press the buttons carefully.
I do not press E1 when I want E10.
(I still remember the beef and cheese stick)
The buttons are pressed, and I await the delivery
of my Snickers bar,
but nothing is happening.
You make no attempt to give me what I paid for.
The rings do not rotate,
and you will not release my candy bar.
I thought you might be nice to me
after our last conversation,
but here we are again.
And all you say in response
as you spit out my thirty cents change and withhold my candy bar
is:
have a nice day.

Because my mind is made up of lists, lists, lists, lists and my living area is made up of stacks and piles, stacks and piles. My life is consolidated into one tightly bound, carefully organized, and neatly printed little blue Franklin Covey Planner that I got on clearance at Target for $10 and a tree of folders inside my poor, abused HP laptop, organized with such care that my pictures reside in individual folders all labeled first with the year, then with the month, then with the date, and finally with the subject, so I can view my life chronologically in full color.

Organized. That’s the word that many people use to describe me, but I currently sit on the outermost corner of my bed, leaning back against a pile of clothes, bedding, stuffed animals, and even a lunchbox that really need to be put away. Some people have a hard time making lists, but I don’t. I can sit down on a Tuesday evening and type up a list of 101 things that I would like to do in the next three or so years without any qualms, but hanging my laundry onto hangers is a huge challenge to me.

By all rights, my clothing should be hung in the closet, sorted by type, and then by height and color, for aesthetics, just like my books that sit on my bookcase right now, but they’re not. My shelves should be labeled with my Dymo Label Maker, and the contents of my desk drawer should have tabs for easy reference, with colored dots on each one marking how often I should refer back to each item. Should I look over them daily, weekly, or occasionally? If I looked over them more often, perhaps I would be able to find the stapler when I need it. But for some reason, no matter how hard I try, that never happens. I purge, clean, sort, organize and purge some more to my heart’s content, yet I still don’t know where the stapler is, and I even once lost my social security card for an entire year until I finally found it tucked somewhere safe and completely illogical.

I know precisely when I will need the stapler, because it’s written right here in my little blue planner on my next actions list. I will need to staple together my math homework on Monday. My math homework is entry #12 on the list, and the due date is 7/6/09. I can see that it’s not done yet, because the box next to it does not contain a perfect little checkmark. I know I need to send a thank you card to Mr. and Mrs. So and So, who were invited to my wedding as a party of four, because they have two kids named Johnny and Mary. I also know that they did RSVP and they are from out of town, and they gave us the lovely gift of a gift card for this exact amount, and I can see that I haven’t yet sent them a thank you card because the little box is not filled in with a checkmark yet in my thirteen column wedding excel spreadsheet. I could tell you exactly what park we will be visiting in Disney World on which day and where we plan to eat at precisely what time and even what I intend to order, because that is all in my Disney World spreadsheet. Yet I still have a pile of laundry on my bed that has resided in hampers for quite some time, and I have no idea where my stapler is.

Aren’t humans strange contradictions?

First of all, why don’t you have prices on every selection?
Can’t you just be upfront about these things?
I know you enjoy making me play guessing games, but I don’t appreciate it.
Second of all, why is the small bottle of Propel fifty cents,
while the large bottle is $2.50?
That doesn’t make any sense.
It’s really annoying that the thing I’m craving
is always the thing that’s lodged up against the glass
with a 10 bottle pile up behind it because
an optimist thought they could dislodge it with another bottle.
Whoever created you must be stinking rich by now.
Also, why did you have to trick me by having a 10 button?
I wanted a Butterfinger bar, so I pressed E and 1.
As my hand moved to the 0 button, I realized
you were already dispensing a beef and cheese stick.
This, I thought, was really very rude,
for a beef and cheese stick is nothing like a Butterfinger bar.
No other machine has a 10 button, so why are you the only one
playing these dirty tricks?
Now I’m eating room temperature beef and cheese
wondering what sort of chemicals I’m ingesting.
Your other offense against me is that you lie to me
by having a quarter slot, but you never accept my quarters.
My quarters go straight through you and are returned to me.
Are my quarters not good enough for you?
Are you too high class for a quarter?
It’s irritating to have to chase down someone with a dollar bill
when all I have are some quarters I grabbed from my change jar
this morning specifically to feed you.
Why is there no consistency to your daily offerings?
Sometimes you have Cheetos.
But other times you have strange, rubbery, beefy things
that smell and taste like wet dog food.
One time I was starving, and I looked to you for aid
but the only snacks available were hot and spicy.
Spicy Jerky, Jalapeno Cheetos, Hot Beef Sticks
Hot Hot Hot Doritos, and even Spicy Gold Fish.
Where on earth did you find spicy gold fish?
Couldn’t you at least offer me regular goldfish?
Every time I’m hungry and desperate, I visit you crossing my fingers
as I insert my money and make my selection.
But the only thing I can really count on is that
inevitably every class I take in this hallway
will eventually be interrupted by an enraged jock
body slamming you because you denied him his Cheez-Its.