So its a beautiful day and I decide that rather than take the bus from work to campus, I'll walk. The most scenic route is cutting through the State Capitol building grounds: lots of shade, green grass, and funny people wandering around.
I'm plodding along when I suddenly realize there are several men in military uniform heading down the sidewalk in my direction. The only uniform I recognize is the United States Air Force. As I pass by the men, who flash their bright white teeth at me (it is a small world afterall and GIs the world over like any and every humanoid with boobs--I think they'll take what they can get), I realize that some have accents and an Airman is explaining some aspect of American culture to one. Hmmm, I wonder what they're doing.
As I continue on my way I come to the end of the line and upon some stragglers.
"Can I get a picture?" a man from Kazakhstan asks.
Because he has a thick accent and I have bad hearing (or something) I ask him to repeat himself. "You want me to take a picture of you?"
"No, "he answers. "I want a picture with you."
Now anyone who knows me much at all knows I hate to have my picture taken. But I'm in a generous mood, feeling adventurous, and having a good hair day (and not feeling particulary sensitive about my Adams apple--it only shows up in each and every picture I ever take!). I consent.
Next thing I know two more men run over wanting to be included in the picture. We pose, take the picture, and the photographer and one of the soldiers leave. I chat with the remaining two soldiers (one from Kazakhstan and Alegeria). I ask them what they're doing here.
Well you learn something new everyday. They are stationed at Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio. I didn't know we had foreign soldiers stationed in the U.S. but, hey, thats neat.
We chat a little. The Algerian man, who's a cutie but a bit short, tries to impress me by stating that he speaks French and has a French accent. Then he ask me if we can exchange email addresses. I tell him, "No, I'll never see you again."
We chat a bit more and then part ways, as I have to get to class.
The moral of this story is that aside from the positive impact on the environment and one's personal character, a way to add spice to one's life is to use an alternative form of transportation. I don't know where to begin relating all the bus stories I have (and I have lots of experience riding the bus--elementary school to the present). For example, the other day there was an old man telling this wild story about a fall he had the night before from a three story building. If it wasn't for the ring finger on his right hand he would not have lived to tell the story. That finger wasn't even scratched.
Wow.....!
I'm plodding along when I suddenly realize there are several men in military uniform heading down the sidewalk in my direction. The only uniform I recognize is the United States Air Force. As I pass by the men, who flash their bright white teeth at me (it is a small world afterall and GIs the world over like any and every humanoid with boobs--I think they'll take what they can get), I realize that some have accents and an Airman is explaining some aspect of American culture to one. Hmmm, I wonder what they're doing.
As I continue on my way I come to the end of the line and upon some stragglers.
"Can I get a picture?" a man from Kazakhstan asks.
Because he has a thick accent and I have bad hearing (or something) I ask him to repeat himself. "You want me to take a picture of you?"
"No, "he answers. "I want a picture with you."
Now anyone who knows me much at all knows I hate to have my picture taken. But I'm in a generous mood, feeling adventurous, and having a good hair day (and not feeling particulary sensitive about my Adams apple--it only shows up in each and every picture I ever take!). I consent.
Next thing I know two more men run over wanting to be included in the picture. We pose, take the picture, and the photographer and one of the soldiers leave. I chat with the remaining two soldiers (one from Kazakhstan and Alegeria). I ask them what they're doing here.
Well you learn something new everyday. They are stationed at Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio. I didn't know we had foreign soldiers stationed in the U.S. but, hey, thats neat.
We chat a little. The Algerian man, who's a cutie but a bit short, tries to impress me by stating that he speaks French and has a French accent. Then he ask me if we can exchange email addresses. I tell him, "No, I'll never see you again."
We chat a bit more and then part ways, as I have to get to class.
The moral of this story is that aside from the positive impact on the environment and one's personal character, a way to add spice to one's life is to use an alternative form of transportation. I don't know where to begin relating all the bus stories I have (and I have lots of experience riding the bus--elementary school to the present). For example, the other day there was an old man telling this wild story about a fall he had the night before from a three story building. If it wasn't for the ring finger on his right hand he would not have lived to tell the story. That finger wasn't even scratched.
Wow.....!
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