Just for Laughs

   We all have funny stories about our lives--those moments when we stop and say, "This is my life, really?" or "This would only happen to me." Sometimes we realize right away that a situation is funny; sometimes it takes a while for the emotions to fade. The sooner we learn to laugh at ourselves, the sooner we embrace a great part of life. Laughing at ourselves gives us more stories to tell at parties, more wrinkles on our faces and ultimately more joy. My goal for this column is to inspire others to take a step back at laugh at life, or at least at mine.

   Move-in day. These words strike fear and dread into the hearts of many students. Fear of starting college, dread of moving our possessions and annoyance toward the pathetic rolling carts that have no sense of steering or balance.

   I once helped a friend move across campus using one of the university's rolling carts. Piled high with pink and blue college essentials, along with awkwardly-shaped wire shelves, a television and a full laundry basket, we headed across Fifth Avenue. The walk signal lit up, but I realized my strength was no match for the sidewalk crack in front of the wheels of my cart. After a good shove and a bump over the cement crack, then an acceleration down the slope of the walk, the cart hit the road. The beeping sound of the traffic light's timer doubled, indicating that traffic was about to start moving again. Panicked, I pushed the cart faster. Without my consent, the wheels turned and the cart rapidly headed for the last lane of traffic and the large rain-catching drain beside the curb.

   I could have screamed. I don't remember, but luckily a man waiting for the bus stop became my hero as he threw himself at the runaway cart before it crashed into the curb. Just then, a group of high school students on a tour of campus walked across the street staring at us, inevitably wondering if this is what they should expect.

   This school year, I did not return to a dorm but returned to an apartment. I left most of my stuff in it over the summer, but I was shocked by how many trips I had to make to the car to bring in the stuff I "needed" to take home for the summer. I returned to a wireless internet on the fritz, two smoking burners on the stove (when I used them) and a printer that spat out papers in every direction, spilling them onto the floor like a cascading waterfall or twisting them inside the mechanics of the machine.

   I was a group leader for the freshmen orientation activities, also known as Week of Welcome or WOW. The school of journalism was one of the smallest groups, maybe 30 new students in gray shirts. Answering questions like, "Where is the bathroom?" and "Where am I supposed to be?" I encouraged students that things would calm down.

   At lunchtime, I headed to the fountain area outside the student center. I looked for a gray shirt in the midst of what felt like a large pack of skittles spilled on the campus. Ah-ha! A girl in a gray shirt sitting temporarily alone at the fountain. I walked to her and introduced myself, sitting down next to her on the memorial wall holding the water outside the fountain.

    Five minutes later, we decided to take a walk around campus. As I tried to stand up, a powerful force kept my body glued to the memorial. "Oh my gosh, I can't stand up!" I said, panicked. Repeating a few scared phrases, I stood, stringing a brown, syrupy substance between my butt and the bench.

   Needless to say, no one else asked me where the bathroom was.

Contact Staci Standiford at standiford1@marshall.edu.