Friday, July 22, 2011

As Told By...

When I started my blog four days ago, I googled my name to see if I could get to my blog any faster than I previously had. I don't know if anyone's googled their name before, but it's kind of weird where your name pops up, especially if you have a really common name. I, fortunately, don't have that problem and saw that my name was mentioned in a post, which confused me to say the least. Needless to say, because I'm just curious like that, I clicked on it and started reading this article:

I quickly realized it was a writing that one of my best friends Sierra Napoli wrote for a college application. I continued reading, although I was familiar with the story. Then, I instantly knew that I had to write my own (less formal) version of this story for a blog post (I actually really like blogs now; sorry for going back on my word). Maybe you want to read Sierra's version first, but here we go. (Cue flashback, wavy transition thing)

It was a beautiful spring day. The sun dashed across the newly dewed lawn as a butterfly pranced upon the soft blue breeze. I don't quite remember what I was doing at the time the phone gave a sharp ring, but I was most likely reading, a favorite pasttime of mine. Although I was contemplating not answering the phone, I peeled myself out of my reading chair toward the phone, picked it up, and saw it was Sierra Napoli, one of my best friends. I really didn't want to talk to her (just kidding, Sierra! :) ), but I pressed "talk" anyways and instantly started conversing.
"Hey, do you wanna do something right now?"
Apprehensively, I responded, "Uhhhh... I don't know." I looked to my half open book and my comfy chair. Clearly I had a lot going on. "Why?"
"Do you want to go to Enger Tower with me?" Ah, Enger Tower. The Norweigen gem that fits exactly into the landscape of the Duluth hillside. It's so natural and elegant that many people journey up its two hundred foot staircase to view the harbor that trustily lies before them upon each climb.
I looked back to my chair and book. I seriously don't know why it was such a hard decision. "Well..."
"Come on! It'll be fun!"
"Well, okay."
"I'll be by to pick you up in a little bit."
"'Kay." I hear a click and put the phone down.
Early afternoon clearly is the time for the ritual brushing of teeth. What? I was busy READING. Remember? Anyway, I got ready to go and finally saw her car pull into the driveway.
We were whisked along Skyline Parkway in a frantic rush for no apparent reason and, thankfully, made it to the gates of the tower. If my mind serves me right, the tower was closed that day and the gates that stood to block the driveway to the parking lot was also chained. We parked, almost hit a car I believe, and jumped to the safehaven of firm ground. (If it seems like I think Sierra's a bad driver, please think again. I'm told that I shouldn't be judging anyone's driving skills.)
Just our luck. The tower's gates were shut up, but we traipsed (Thanks for the verb, Sierra!) around some surrounding trails, took in the view from a beautiful white pagoda rested upon a rockbed, and rang a gong from Duluth's sister city in Japan. Just two friends hanging out, it was beautiful.
And then it happened. Her phone buzzed and out of her pocket whipped that blue devil (she since updated). "Hello?"
I always imagine Charlie Brown's teacher's voice on the other side of phone conversations that I can't hear. And so our mutual friend Kaylyn Mottonen (another one of my best friends) instantly became a Peanut's character.
"Okay," said Sierra. She turned to me, "Can we go to a dress shop in downtown Duluth? Kaylyn said she'll meet us there."
Hesitantly, (Man, for me to do ANYTHING is like pulling a tooth!) I agreed after further prodding by Sierra.
And so we drilled down to the dress shop in five minutes flat. After a parallel parking fiasco, we finally made it out with our lives and entered the shop, where we were greeted with Kaylyn saying, "Try this one on." She shoved a dress at Sierra. "I have to go to a dentist's appointment right now." And she ditched us.
We sauntered around the store, Sierra collecting dresses and I collecting scads of boredom  along the way. Finally, she had collected about three to try on in the dressing rooms. Naturally, I volunteered to wait for her. It's not like I was going anywhere; she drove me there in the first place.
Ten minutes passed. I was done looking at the shoes and slippers of all kinds and headed toward the millenary section. Imagine a Southern baptist church and you'll know what types of hats they had.
Twenty minutes passed. I looked at my phone for the time. I sighed and moved onto the furniture strictly used for display purposes, as determined by the lack of price tag on them. They were nice since I fairly enjoy the distressed look on end tables and such.
Thirty minutes passed. This strange women started staring at me. There wasn't men's clothing in the store. What is he doing here? That antique smell started to sink into my clothes. I hear a wrustle from within the changing room. She must have just bumped the door. False hope once again.
Forty minutes, fifty minutes, SIXTY HOURS passed! (That may or may not be an exaggeration.)
Finally, she came out and held out a yellow dress to me, revealing a rip along the zipper. I knew she was kicking herself for it and didn't know what to do. I believe I may have asked her if she's going to tell the shopkeeper, upon which she responded, "I don't know."
I trailed her as she approached the counter to tell the women about her damage. Her voice trembled, and I knew the nervousness she felt. "Oh, don't worry about it, dear! This happens all the time," the shopkeeper said. She went on to explain how the owner can easily fix it and how she was thankful that Sierra was truthful.

Now, I'd like to say that I saved the day since I was the narrator of the story, but Sierra was the protagonist; she did the right thing. Now, my only hope is that she'll read this post because I lived, heard, and read multiple times about this incident.

For reference, this is one of our favorite pictures from our marching band days. She's to the far left and I'm the tall one.

'Til next time!

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