At2:45 a.m. November 1, 1973, I was bornin Northshore Hospital in Manhasset, New York. Ever since that fateful day on which I disrupted my mother's sleep and permanently scarred her abdomen (i.e. Caesarean section), I have no doubt been a night person. Never do I slink into bed before 2 a.m. In fact, I've been known to order from EBAs at 1:45 in the morning not out of hunger, but out of sheer boredom.
By going to sleep late here at school, I typically suffer immensely painful consequences the following morning. Yet, even in my half-dazed state I manage to complete one of the most arduous chores of the day -- the morning ritual.
My alarm, strategically set to an all-Catholic radio station, blares at 9:15 in the morning. Semi-conscious in bed, I hear 2 women praising the merits of the New Testament and describing the importance of Jesus Christ in their everyday life.
Religious hymns begin to play and my body, fully aware that I am a Jew from central Long Island, begins to quiver in bed. "Ay gevalt," I feel like I'm being indoctrinated by a religion I don't even understand and my body can no longer tolerate sermons, confessions and Hail Marys. I bolt out of bed, turn off the alarm and climb back underneath my covers for a few more minutes of sacred sleep.
The clock reads 9:41 when I once again gain consciousness, and I roll out of bed, searching for the same bath towel I have been using since the beginning of the term. It's kind of strange how it has changed colors. Heck, it's a towel, it's gotta' be clean, I think to myself. Once, it's found, I click on my computer to sort through any early morning blitzes.
Once finished answering every mass blitz sent to my account, I grab my soapdish, shampoo, toothpaste and of course I put on my traditional morning T-shirt. I wouldn't want to blind any one of my hallmates with my pasty white chest. Placing all of my toiletries in one of my Kirk Cameron lunchboxes, I make my way to the Topliff bathroom.
The bathroom is wretched-smelling as usual. Once again, some Einstein did not flush the toilet the previous night. Hey, if you're proficient enough to pull down your pants, you sure as heck can push the little silver lever on the left side of the bowl.
After flushing the toilets myself, I make my way to the sink, spending a couple of minutes trying to squeeze the last drop of toothpaste out of the Crest tube. I bite, chew, rip and finally get enough gel on my finger for a rudimentary morning pointer finger cleaning. (My toothbrush was recently covered by an avalanche of Pert Plus in my room.)
After my breath passes the hand test, I make my way to the infamous Topliff showers, the showers that never consistently produce a stream of hot water. In a dorm in which heating is far from a problem, the showers are about as effective as ORL's housing lottery system.
Once inside the handicapped size showers, I throw my empty soap container and shampoo bottle to the floor, scavenging my way for scraps of soap and leftover shampoo strewn across the bathroom. Ah, Irish Spring and Selson Blue with conditioner for blonde highlights -- two of my personal favorites. By the way, I've had the same empty containers since sophomore summer.
The shower usually lasts all of five minutes since that's how long the water remains tepid. Once out, though, I engage in my free-for-all application procedures. The shelves are usually lined with goodies. A squib of Clearasil, a dab of Stridex, a fingerful of PanOxyl AQ, a foamy handful of Edge Gel and a smooth Gilette Sensor Shave. And now for the hardest of my day's decisions. Should I use Brut, Old Spice, Skin Bracer or Obsession? Do I want to smell like Sure Desert Spice, Right Guard Athletic or Speedstick Sport? Heck, I'm a rebel. It feels like an Old Spice, Desert Spice morning.
My last decisions of the morning are easily made, as the pants I've worn for the past week climb onto my body without any prompting, and my inside-out socks vociferously call for an encore performance.
In choosing a shirt, I pick up the L.L. Bean catalog and quickly inventory what I do and don't have. Blackwatch, Dress Blackwatch, Spruce, Natural, Burgundy, Cream, Malcolm, Sutherland or Jacobite. Cream, yeah, that's what I'll wear.
With my Timberland boots tied, my Member's Only jacket zipped, I head off to class at 10:15. Oops, forgot my books. Oh well, whoever said my system was efficient.
