Blast from the Past: First Rotation

Look at this! Look at all these entries! Look at me go! Whee! Here's some embarrassingly old stuff I wrote but never typed up. Let's go back... way back to the first week of my very first rotation. February something. Let's set the stage for this situation. I live in Lakeview, north of my classes downtown. My first rotation was at the University of Chicago. A couple of inches on the map, if that. Keep that in mind.

On the first day, I caught the bus with two fellow 1st years who are on their lab rotation at U of C. According to the CTA website, the best buses to take were the #147 and the #4. Not that that probably means anything to you, but just know that it's not a problematic route... on paper. After we boarded the #4, it came to our attention that this. Bus. Is. Exceedingly. Painstakingly. Ridiculously. Slow. Like, stops every block as we descended into the ghetto. For over an hour.

We finally arrived at U of C and headed to our separate rotations. That first day I observed a few cases, met a world-renowned cancer doctor and then headed back home. Unfortunately I left a few minutes later than the other two and had to write the lovely #4 alone. Well, I wasn't alone, but trust me. I was alone. I managed to score a seat right away, turned up the tunes and tried to breathe out of my mouth. Seriously, this bus was nas-McAssty. And as I'm sitting there, trying to remember what stop I needed for my transfer, I see a lady sitting ahead of me. No, maybe it was a gentleman. I'm not sure. I'm sorry, sir/ma'am. Perhaps you should consider at least one article of gender specific clothing? Some lip gloss? I dunno. Just a thought if you want a bitchy blogger to be able to identify your gender when she writes about you without your permission on the Internet. Anyway.

(S)he was sitting in front of me in one of the side-facing seats behind the driver. I'm innocently looking forward to any point on the oh-so-distant horizon that is NOT in the ghetto when what do I see in my peripheral vision? The ambiguous individual burying his/her/its head in a tattered backpack and inhaling very deeply and loudly through his/her/its nose. I'd use the word "snorted," but that's a pretty judgement-laden word, and I have no way of verifying what substance, controlled or otherwise, was given an express ticket to his sinus cavity. The flu is going around, maybe it was some Vicks Vap-o-Rub. You know, to clear the sinuses. For when he/she/it snorted coke later. See, we just don't know and it's really not fair to judge.

He/She/It disembarked quickly at the next stop, so I guess I'll never know what it was. I'm no drug-scent expert, but I do know that I didn't smell any mentholated, sinus-clearing vapor wafting my way. Just unidentifiable repulsive body-related odors. I remained a mouth-breather until we re-entered civilization, where I promptly got off the bus at the wrong stop and had to walk many, many blocks to find a bus that would take me back home.

So yeah, I had the best "first day" story that night at happy hour.