Story Time!

Following is part of an application for an interest house here at Carleton.  I left in the question as to perhaps make the story I'm sharing make a little more sense.  Sorry the formatting may be a little funky.

1.     Imagine you’re in the Alaskan backcountry and you suddenly find yourself between a vast gorge with roaring waterfalls and an angry polar bear/grizzly bear hybrid with two cubs.  Either side looks like certain death, whether by plummeting through water and onto sharp rocks or being eaten by some crazed product of global warming.  You have the following:

 i)            old school union suit long johns (indicate color and/or patterns)

 ii)            an “amber waves of grain” color crayon

 iii)            an electric nose hair trimmer

 iv)            the original screenplay to Oscar Wilde’s “The Importance of Being Ernest”

 v)            a black and white photo of your Polish great-uncle, summiting one of the 14 tallest peaks in the world in winter (indicate which peak and why).

 vi)            your most prized collection of Star Wars action figures.

 vii)            How do you escape?

 

Like all of the other times I find myself in these situations, I first ask WWJD?  “Jesus? Really?” you might ask, “Jesus can’t save you from certain death (though he can save you after said certain death).  To which I would respond that while Jesus is just all right with me, the “J” I consider is my great-uncle Jerzy.  Jerzy Kukuczka is my most badass relation, a Polish climber who has actually summited all of the 14 tallest peaks in the world.  I carry around a picture of his summit of Dhaulagiri in the winter of 1985 as it was the first winter ascent of the mountain just for situations like this when I need the courage. 

So back to the Alaskan backcountry, I look to Uncle Jerzy who imparts with his ever-photogenic eyes that if I manage to survive this predicament, I’d deserve my face on a postage stamp much more than he did.  Luckily, I had recently received the most recent issue of the BEARS magazine I subscribe to, which had an article on polar bear/grizzly bear hybrids.  The only thing I could remember from the article was that before these crazy hybrids reach sexual maturity, they happen to be literate.  Good thing I have that Oscar Wilde screenplay!  It was to be my reading for the plane ride home, but seeing as there may be no plane ride home, I considered it no loss.  Thankfully, the two cubs had not yet read The Importance of Being Ernest and were captivated by Mr. Wilde’s handiwork. 

That still left me with Mama Hybrid.  I reached into the deep pockets of my long johns emblazoned with the Union Jack (a hand me down from Uncle Jerzy- him being Polish, I never understood the Union Jack, but he died when I was but a wee infant so I guess I’ll never know) to see what I had to work with.  Time was getting short as Mama Hybrid advanced, and the crayon, nose hair trimmer, and Star Wars action figures I found in my hands did not look promising.  I chuck the nose hair trimmer over the fall because, honestly, what kind of self-respecting person owns an electric nose hair trimmer?  Plus, this one actually needed to be plugged in, and I saw no outlets on the waterfall, though I’m sure if I got close enough to the bear, she could power a thousand nose hair trimmers.  The nose hair trimmer has already been dashed by the rocks below (in a way I am sure to follow), so it’s a moot point debating its usefulness at this point.

The rest of my escape remains a bit of a blur to me, as the polar/grizzly came at me with such dexterity on the slippery rocks and in moving water, it was fruitless for me to intervene.  The reason it was such a blur is that I don’t quite believe what I remember happening.  What I do remember is being swallowed whole and, upon reaching the belly of the bear, the stomach acids reacted with my Star Wars figures and brought them to life.  They were not too happy to be inside this creature, so with the help of the light sabers, we broke out of the stomach and found ourselves in a field of grain.  Suspiciously, my crayon had disappeared and some patriotic tune was stuck in my head.  Han Solo bid me farewell for the lot of them and my now alive Star Wars action figures disappeared.

Glad to be alive, I returned home through weeks of hiking and hitch-hiking.

 viii)            What would you cook as a victory dinner once you’re back at the house?

            I would most likely cook a nice pesto pizza with tomatoes, from scratch of course.  The tomatoes would probably spell out some sort of phrase reminding those who are partaking in my cooking just how hard core I am from dominating that certain death situation.

ix)           Would you wash your own dishes afterwards?

           Yes I would, because even if you just suffered a near-death experience, dishes in the sink stink (quite literally if they’re there long enough).

x)            How good are your dish balancing abilities, when placing breakable ceramic wares atop an unstable 3 foot high mangle of plates and pots?  (i.e. what architectural masterpiece will you construct?)

If the way in which I balanced my senses when dealing with the horrors of global warming (aka that “bear”) showed you nothing, then rest assured I am a pro at dish balancing.  The architectural masterpieces I can make with dishes will leave one awed and frankly, afraid to add one’s own dish without putting a few away.  If they were to resemble any sort of famous architecture, they would resemble the Great Pyramids surrounded by the remains of the Coliseum with the Leaning Tower of Pisa gracing the top.