ceramics hate to see me coming

Good evening dear readers. I am currently sitting on my bed, hands practically vibrating from a mix of caffeinated beverages and the refrigerator that the school claims is my bedroom.

That being said, let me just throw on my old-lady shawl, poke at the imaginary fireplace, and settle in. Gather round, children. It’s storytime !

Anyway yeah I traumatized myself  at the meal hall yesterday. Again. 

hopefully you guys can use this as a cautionary tale or something? idk.

So basically, I had finished my big ass salad and chocolate milk, which I have every day because it’s awesome, and I was heading back downstairs to put my dishes away or whatever.

I had my cup placed precariously on its side on top of my plate like I always do, next to the five million napkins I used, because I’m insane. Was it stable? Absolutely not. Has it ever been ? also, absolutely not, but it had never betrayed me… until yesterday.

Because as I was walking downstairs toward the dish return, my cup — my loyal traveling companion — decided it had suffered enough, and launched itself directly into a napkin. That napkin, flustered by this sudden act of violence, yeeted itself off the plate entirely.

I, in my infinite hubris, tried to catch it, because sometimes I have the reflexes of a jungle cat. Sometimes. This was not one of those times.

I fumbled the napkin. Then I slipped. Then the plate left my hands like it had been shot out of a cannon, falling hard on the sticky vinyl floor.

And I’m not even slightly exaggerating when I say this, but it fucking EXPLODED.

I’ve never seen something shatter so violently. I’m talking shrapnel. Ceramic detonation. An explosion so dramatic it could’ve ended a Marvel movie. Pieces flew across the entire room, like four or five meters easily. I wouldn’t be surprised if a few shards managed to achieve atmospheric entry.

I didn’t even know what to do. The three strangers nearby froze. I froze. Time stopped. God looked away.

Eventually I straightened up, surveyed the battlefield, and said — in the most tragically suburban-dad voice I’ve ever produced:

WELP.

That sucks.

Luckily a janitor materialized almost instantly, like he teleported from a broom-closet wormhole. “Hey there, kiddo, I got it,” he said, with the weary tone of a man who has cleaned up one too many crimes of clumsiness. My best guess is that he has some sort of mess-related spidey sense.

so I apologized profusely before sprinting back home.

I might genuinely need lessons on how to be a person. Or at least how to hold a plate without reenacting Pompeii.

Ultimately, gravity is undefeated, I am its favorite chew toy, and meal hall plates are dangerous. Honestly, I shouldn’t  be allowed near dishes, floors, or open space. Ever. For the safety of the general public.

And so, children; university has not broken me yet, but it is flicking pebbles at me from across the room and giggling. That’s it.

Have a great day.