The Summer I Invaded Normandy workshop essay

I was there when the beach was taken.

Smoke blurred my vision and watered my eyes. I crouched behind a wooden barrier, sweat drenching my body as I tried to figure out a plan. The sun was at its zenith, glaring down viciously upon me and the teeming mass of people fighting for their lives. We were nearing the edge of the German’s defenses, and the firefight was becoming ever more dangerous. I could hear swearing and cries of distress coming from up ahead. I had to get back in the fight. It was kill or be killed. Taking a deep breath, I pushed myself to my knees and tried to peer over my bunker, sticking my head out like an overly paranoid prairie dog.

 Pop Pop Pop!

I flung myself flat just in time as my hideout was peppered with a barrage of angry projectiles. I lay there for a few seconds, letting my pounding heart slow before I forced myself to rise again. This time I peered through a hole in my wooden protector, and I could see several dark forms, well protected by the shadows and walls of their defenses. I slumped down against the wood and glanced behind me, thinking. That’s when I saw him. In the initial rush I had become separated from my unit, but now I saw one of them, crouched several yards back, using a metal barrel for protection. I could see he was in a bad spot, and besides being in my squad, he was a good of mine. So I yelled out to him,

“Chris! Over here! Make a run for it I’ll cover you!”

He gave me a quick nod, and tensed his body up like a runner waiting for the starter gun. Clenching my gun with my right hand, I held up my left and gave him the countdown.

“Three, Two, One… Go!”

I spun and rose at the same time popping my gun and head over the barrier, firing before I even had a target sighted. All I had to do was keep the German’s from firing at Chris until he slid into safety. Hopefully I could keep them off myself as well. I frantically pumped the trigger of my gun as I heard projectiles slam into my bunker, and when I felt a few graze my clothing, I dropped like a rock. As I lay on the ground, ammunition still zinging by overhead, I glanced over and saw Chris crouching next to me.

“Well that wasn’t so bad,” Chris said, grinning from ear to ear.

“Ha! Maybe for you,” I said, “I was the one they were all aiming for.”

“Eh whatever,” he said as he started to stick his head out, looking for the enemy.

“Chris be care-“ I stared to say, but before I could finish I heard him yell and a split second later fall back behind the bunker. He looked at me, his eyes wide and his jaw sagging in shock.

“A- Am I hit?” he stammered.

I slowly reached over and felt the oozing liquid staining his forehead. With a sinking feeling I realized that he’d been shot in the head. I wanted to lie to him but I couldn’t.

“I’m sorry buddy, but you’re dead.”

He groaned. “Aw shit.”

Then he stood up, waved his hands over his head, and shouted, “I’m dead! Don’t shoot!”

As I watched him walk off the field, I realized that I was once again alone behind my sad wooden bunker. I stared down at my fingers, squishing around the oozing white paint I had wiped from Chris’s forehead. I peeked out as I had several times before and saw that the Allied forces had pushed forward some more. I pondered for a moment whether I should wait for Chris to come back. But… I had to help the troops.

I decided. I wiped my fingers on my camo pants, hefted my paintball gun, and tensed myself. Taking a deep breath I leaped into open space. It was time to kill or be killed.

After all, this was war… wasn’t it?

One Rant, Hold the Cheese

I've noticed rants popping up on several other blogs, so I've decided to give one a go. Today I will be discussing  the pains of working in the field of food service. I am currently employed at the College sandwich shop,and though I normally find no fault with my job, some of the people I'm forced to serve are unimaginably frustrating. The type of frustrating that makes me wish that I had arsenic at hand to mix in with their mayonnaise.

Now there are typically three different categories of people who drive me crazy. The Ignorant Imbeciles, the Mean Mumblers, and the Phonies.

Let's start with the Ignorant Imbeciles. I know this seems like a rather harsh title but I find it to be pretty accurate.  These are the people who come up to the counter and ask me to make a sandwich, but they know absolutely nothing about the sandwich making process. They don't even know what basic ingredients are for making a sandwich. I've had people ask me what tuna salad is, what buffalo sauce tastes like, and there was even one girl who made me hold up a bottle of Italian dressing to see what it looked like. It's a sandwich shop people! If you don't know what simple sandwich making materials are then don't come to my shop.

Next, I'd like to berate the Mean Mumblers. These are the people who talk so softly, or quickly, or illegibly that I have to ask them again and again what in the world they want. I usually wouldn't mind that much, since I myself have a tendency to mumble sometimes, but these people will respond rudely, as if it's my fault that they couldn't form a clear, concise sentence. It's never a good idea to be mean to the people who make you're food, but Mean Mumblers obviously haven't figured this out.

The last group of sandwich shop customers that get under my skin are the Phonies. I don't call them that because they're fake, though they very well may be. I'm actually referring to the fact that throughout the entire sandwich making process, they keep a cell phone glued to their ear and blabber away. When you need to get their attention all you can do is stand there and stare at them until they snap out of their precious conversation. These people will often just stop long enough to quickly blurt out their desired sandwich composition and return to ignoring me. When this happens, I don't worry about making them a decent sandwich. If they aren't going to give me any respect, then they shouldn't respect any in return. If I can't remember everything they wanted when they blurted out their order, then I just leave the sandwich as is, throw it on a plate, and watch as the Phonie grabs it and walks away without so much as a thank you. At most I might get a quick head nod.

So just a warning to all, if you fall into any of these categories, be careful when eating your next sandwich.

To Blog or Not to Blog, That is the Question

Actually it's not really. The question I mean. I have to post on this blog if I want to do well in my Adv. Non-Fiction class, so I really didn't ponder over whether I would or would not blog, in fact I'm not really sure why I even titled it thus. The real question is what to blog, what to blog? Which I haven't really figured out yet. I guess I'm in the process since I have this much written already, but what is this blog about? I sort of want to delete whats written so far, but its 5 o-clock in the a.m. right now and I've procrastinated so dismally well so far, that I'm afraid if I delete these past few sentences that I might just give up and go to bed. Though then I guess the question posed by the title would indeed be valid... except the title would no longer be there, and none of what I've written would matter.

I guess this is what happens when you say "fuck it" and dive headlong into a post with no real plan or theme or even any idea where in the world you're going. Maybe this represents my life... Ah Ha! Here it is. I've come to a point of meaning in my ramblings. It's taken me all this nothing to come to realize that this is how I approach a lot of the things in my life.

Lets take college for instance. I'm in my third year here and I still don't have much of an idea of what I want to do with my life. Sure I'm doing well with my English major, but I have no real idea where I'm going with it. I just sort of dove headlong into it and now I'm almost done. I'll graduate at the end of this year since I came in with too many credits from high school dual credit classes. And then where will I be? I'll be like where I am now, at the end of this post, not sure if the path I just took was the right one, and not sure where to go, realizing that I probably should have planned ahead.

Yet... despite having just written that rather depressing sounding sentence about my so far listless life, I can't find it in me to be overly concerned about my future. As my class adviser once said to me, "You have a very positive outlook on life, and as long as you don't get cancer or  become maimed in a terrible accident, you'll be just fine." Yes he actually said that, or something along those lines. I hope that he's right.

Hot Tub Time Machine

Have you ever had a movie that you could watch over and over again? One that never got old and never ceased to entertain you? I've had movies that I thought I could watch over and over again every day until the day i died. The funny thing is that the only movies I can watch very repetitively are comedies. They're never incredibly complicated or dark , they're just movies that make me laugh. None of the movies I've ever been hooked on have been movies I would put at the top of my best movies list, and now that I'm thinking about it I realize that it's because the movies that are the most re-watchable are simple, undemanding movies. Sure I love a great, complicated thriller, like "Silence of the Lambs" or a mind blowing film like "Donnie Darko," but I can only watch those maybe once or twice a year. I love them and recognize their greatness but they just weigh too heavily on me. However give me a simple, funny movie, like "Hot Tub Time Machine" for instance, and I can watch it whenever there's a TV and a DVD player available. That's just the way it is.
  Now I've talked about how there have been movies I can watch over and over again, but I've gotten to the real topic I wanted to discuss: "Hot Tub Time Machine" (or HTTM for short). Though I have indeed watched certain movies over and over in my life, I don't think I've ever been addicted to one as much as HTTM. I'm watching it right now actually if you must know. It was the inspiration for this entire post. I'm not sure how I became so addicted to this movie, but every time I watch it I just feel content. I can sit down and watch it intently or leave it on as background noise when doing other things (such as blog for my English class). My roommate is also addicted to HTTM along with me, in fact he was the one who introduced the movie to me. We plan on watching it at least once a week this semester, and this is already the second showing since I've arrived at Brockport. It's hard to say what exactly about this movie draws me in so much again and again, but I just can't stop watching it. Try watching it yourself if you haven't already and see if you become addicted as well. It's not a movie take seriously or over analyze, but if you just watch and let the movie entertain you, you might understand the joy I get from it. Or you might hate it. Doesn't matter to me though. I'm going to get back to my movie now.