"Dalton is a private university located in Oxford, United Kingdom, established in 1603. Academically, it is ranked among the world's top five universities and leads in Europe. With a rich history and a dedication to the pursuit of excellence, Dalton University offers unique learning experiences across a broad spectrum of academic and social environments. Dalton University has been the primary educator of England's royals for the past 400 years," is what the brochure reads.
What is should read is: "Dalton universities is the home of unjustifiably braggart egoists, deprave aristocrats spawned from old money moguls gleaning their piles of gold coins from the subjugation of working class heroes, and elitist pricks." Alas, the brochure lacks clarity.
Dalton does have one slightly redeeming factor, however. That would be the one time a year where they provide scholarships to five academically minded individuals, cringing all the while.
Which is how I ended up here, among the tweed. Most of the population of these hallowed halls do not look too kindly upon us so-called "skidrow bums." I don't mind though, seeing as how I do not look too kindly upon those "mollycoddled narcissists." They'll get their comeuppances. Someday when they're sitting in their lavish castles with exorbitant amounts of venetian marble and wainscoating and suddenly realize that they have nothing real to live for. I sit in waiting for that day.
If possible, I would like to be actually, physically located behind one of the large, venetian marble columns inside their mansion at the time so that I can jump out in a timely manner to laugh and dash away in hopes that the message hits home.
Not all of my time is spent planning revenge. No, not all. Though it does seem to occupy my day dreams.
My freshman year, I founded Dalton's first Volunteering Coalition. This was a remarkable challenge given that most Dalton student had no concept of the word "volunteering" and simply could not wrap their heads around it. In the end, I prevailed. The Volunteering Coalition has now grown to an impressive 10 members, including my dearest friend Amber Ellison.
Amber grew up in a house with 40 rooms. What they do with all those rooms, I will never know. I once proposed that they organize one epic game of hide and seek and was no taken seriously for some peculiar reason. She has never heard of Pringles, Converse or Windex. I try my best to educate here but some tasks are simply hopeless. I have managed to look past all of that and accept her for who she is, a member of PETA and frequent donor to numerous charities.
My second bestest friend (I say second bestest because it drives him mad) would be Dallas Artois. Dallas' parents distanced themselves considerable once that discovered that he prefers Anderson Cooper to Gisele Bundchen. They left him with a meager bank account equal to the GNP of Estonia. This goes far enough in supporting his Armani collection so he has decided not to hold it against them. To this day, I have no idea what possessed him to join the Volunteer Coalition but I strongly suspect that it had something to do with Allan, the dead sexy hemp-donning hippie. He rode his fixie straight into our hearts.
We three attempt to bring some moral decency to Dalton Uni by renovating derelict homes, teaching at local schools and cleaning up nature preserves. Stilettos have been broken, cufflinks lost, seams ripped, and chiffon stained. These are dangerous times.
During one especially challenging construction project, I took it upon myself to install a support rafter in the ceiling of an old library. It was not exactly my forte but no one else wanted to climb a ladder. The "stilletos have been broken" incident greatly disturbed the members of the Volunteer Coalition and will not be forgotten. However, the "Rosi comically falls off the ladder and breaks her leg" incident was very quickly forgotten in favor of an afternoon tea and cinnamon scones.
Dallas drove me to the hospital panicking not because his friend's leg bent in an unnatural way, but because the blood might seep onto his Italian leather seats. No worries, the Aston Martin survived unscathed. What did not was my dignity and lower appendage. A friendly reminder to all: there is a never a good day to wear Transformers underwear. Not when you're over 6 and especially not when you're over 20. They can and will cut off your pants in certain emergencies. Living this down is not in the foreseeable future.
I now proudly wear a knee-height cast in Stewart tartan plaid. Dallas insisted on the pattern so that it would compliment my blue eyes. It was sweet of him to make such a suggestion before running off to meet his hunky fitness instructor and abandoning me in the hospital.
Taking the bus home while hopped up on all sorts of vicodin was an interesting experience in and of itself. Let's just say that I made new friends. Gropy new friends.
Week one of the semester after summer break is a big recruitment opportunity for clubs and coalitions. And so I faced my newly-acquired nemesis: the ladder. If people's feet were meant to leave the ground we would have prehensile tails like monkeys. Unfortunately, Amber was attempting to seduce an older man with a heavier wallet and Dallas was MIA.
The task was to hang a banner advertising the first Volunteer Coalition meeting of the year above an entry gate to the law studies quad. I simple had to climb Everest with the functional mobility of the Tin Man.
I placed my crutches neatly on the ground and ascended that ladder as if it were the stairway to heaven. A stairway lined with horrifying things like lions, sharks and puppets.
I attached the first end of the banner as the self-cenetered students of Dalton hurriedly passed beneath me. Not one stopped to help the obviously unbalanced (mentally or physically, you take your pick) girl teetering on a 6-foot ladder. The thought of a congratulatory sugar-laced mocha kept me going.
Going until I fell.
Propelled by the nurturing hand that is gravity.
It happened when my mind deviously tricked me into believing that I could attach the second part of the banner without moving the ladder over to my left. Who knew that my record low dignity was about to take another hit and that I would forever severe my relationship with ladders.
No ladders, I do not miss you. Please stop calling.
And so I fell, only to be caught.
Every once in awhile there comes a time when you should close your eyes and leap. For some insane reason, I was forced to do this literally.... when I wasn't even looking for the edge.