The chapstick conversation

There I was, sitting at my overly air-conditioned desk, gazing outside, wishing I had Lime Rickey spiked with adrenaline. A thought then popped into my head: "Lauren, why don't you share the chapstick story with your three loyal readers?" And it was decided.

To preface this story, I'll just say that my three and a half years of collegiate life at BYU hold a myriad of stories that are as laughable as they are pathetic. Pretty much every date I went on and every time I was hit on is a hilarious anecdote in of itself. Methinks I could write a book about them all. But why do that when I have a blog?

It was a normal day, back in the winter/spring of 2005. I was sitting in the Wilkinson Center in an open area called The Terrace, on a large round table with ten other chairs. Furiously cramming for a test I had in some stupid class I hated, I was dismayed to see that some weird, random guy had chosen the seat RIGHT NEXT TO ME to occupy. Barely two inches away from me. Let's just say he was in my bubble. Here is the event that followed:

Weird Guy: (flips open his computer and starts humming and typing)

Me: (audible and not-so-subtle sigh)

WG: (leans over FURTHER into my space) Hmm, looks interesting. Whatcha reading?

Me: Um... the history of women in American culture.

WG: Well that sounds like a great book.

Me: (a grunt followed by a very obvious attempt to shield further conversation by placing the book right in front of my face)

Two minutes of silence (save the humming and typing) pass; I reach for my chapstick in my bag. As I'm putting it away...

WG: So what flavor of chapstick is that?

Me: (bewildered and creeped out) I don't know, berry something.

WG: (whipping out his own chapstick) MINE'S blue raspberry.

Me: (in a thoroughly disinterested and thoroughly bewildered tone) Neat.

To spurn the remainder of his conversational advances, I make a quick exit and resolve to bs my way through the quiz.

The End.