How I paid my last tuition payment at Syracuse University is something more than a story. For a long time, it was the focal point of my solo acoustic act.
A bit of background: SU raised tuition during the three years I was there by about 35%. I put myself through school by working two jobs, taking the maximum credit load, going to summer school and graduating a year early. I also lived like some sort of lab animal, and became more than a little unhinged by it all.
So when it came to pay the last $148.53 that was owed immediately, something inside me made me wait to pay it. As long as they had the last chunk before graduation, everything was fine. I remember pulling $150 from an ATM, seven crisp $20s and one crisp $10, and putting it in a drawer.
In April of my senior year, I was finishing up my last political science paper, dealing with First Amendment rights. (Libel, by coincidence. The truth is always a defense.) I was pulling an all-nighter, and the last thing that I had in my house was a three-pack of Orville Reddenbacher's microwave cheddar cheese gourmet popcorn. I ate this stuff, little realizing that something very bad was going to happen.
Over the course of the weekend, as I poured myself into this paper, I didn't really realize how ill I was. Some sort of stomach flu had gotten hold of me, making my skin color bad, my body odor worse. It was Not Pretty. It got a lot less pretty when my body decided that Orville Reddenbacher Microwave Cheddar Cheese Popcorn was not a good idea at all. After I vomited a few more times, the paper was ready. It had a noon drop-off deadline, and the campus was about 15 minutes away. I stapled up the paper, went to grab my coat, and took a good look in the mirror.
Two days worth of grime. Bad skin. Worse hair. A Hunter S. Thompson T-shirt of "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas," a Ralph Steadman original, now in its second day of abuse. Crusty blue jeans. Hmm. And the $150, calling out to me. Time to pay that last tuition payment.
I picked up a black magic marker and started stabbing exposed flesh; the idea was to create some not-too-convincing needle track marks. I took the eight fiscal notes and crumpled them up into little balls, putting one in each pocket of my jeans and battered gray jacket. I took one last look in the mirror, grabbed the political science paper, and left my apartment.
Syracuse gets about 20 beautiful days a year, and this was one of them. As smiling happy people bounced around in the great April weather, I trudged towards campus. Birds singing, joggers and bicyclists all over the place, enough to make you sick. And so I was.
If I can impart nothing else to you, Dear Reader, let me impart the following essential wisdom: When vomiting, DO NOT TRY TO HOLD IT IN. Vomit, like water, will find its own level: through the nose. I gagged away, wiped myself off the best that I could against a telephone pole, and continued on to campus.
I dropped the paper off, then went to the Bursar's Office. For once, no line. A thoroughly evil crone, a woman who had once canceled my schedule because a bank loan had not made it in on deadline, was behind the counter. I walked on up as jaunty as I could manage, gave her my best winning smile, gave her the biggest whiff of my morning-fresh, popcorn and vomit-laced breath. "Hi!"
No reaction. Feh. "I'm here to pay my tuition payment!" No reaction. "My social security number is..." and this, of course, made her start typing. It's impossible for bursar's reps not to type when they hear a SSN, by the way. "You owe $148.53," she intoned. "Got it right here," I replied, then started shaking out each small wad of money on to the counter. I also said, under my breath but loud enough to be heard, "Damn kids, I give them the crack in good condition, the least they could do is give me the money in good condition..."
Slight look of horror from the bursar's rep. I took off my coat to get the last ball o' bill out of each pocket, and to let her get a good look at my track marks. Slightly larger look of horror now. She started unfolding the money, and I was, for the first time in months, truly happy: a small but memorable act of protest against these tuition hikes had been achieved, one that I hoped would stay with here for some time.
Then the unthinkable happened: I sneezed.
Dear Reader, I am not a physically imposing man. I stand 5'-4" in my stocking feet, and I weigh in around 145-150 pounds. If you had told me that I had a big nose, I wouldn't disagree, but I also wouldn't think it all that noteworthy. If, however, you were to show me the size of the green and Orville Reddenbacher cheddar cheesy-orange snotball/meteor that came hurtling out of my nose, I would have most likely fainted.
ANYWAY... this monster came out of my nose. It slammed against the teller glass guard and stuck there, making a nose not too unlike shrapnel. We both looked at it, the teller and I, for a good five seconds.
Then, my finest collegiate hour. I sighed, kept a straight face, said "Happens all the time."
She went into the back and called security. When she came back, I twitched enough to get my change before they could show up, then went home and slept the sleep of the just.
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