I got puked on

I officially have 365 days left in the Marshall Islands. My contract with the Ministry of Education expires on August 13, 2008. A friend recently asked me if, whenever I write down the date on a check, blackboard, etc., I immediately think about where I will be and what I will be doing one year from that date. By virtue of having just determined that I will be leaving the Marshall Islands exactly one year from now, the answer is yes. One significant stage of my life will have ended and a yet to be determined one will begin.

Last week I created the “07-08” folder on my hard drive. Ever since “98-99” I’ve been organizing everything I create or write according to academic years, a fact which reveals that I’m ridiculously geeky because I’ve been archiving shit on a computer since I was 14. Nevertheless, “07-08” will be the last folder that will be populated from documents regarding the Marshall Islands, a very momentous revelation in my compact little nerd world. What “08-09” will hold remains to be seen, though I’m already deliberating on how I’m going to neatly transition from organizing according to academic years to organizing according to calendar years, since “08-09” will be the first folder that will not correspond to some sort of educational institution. I guess dates on computer folders are my equivalent of dates on checks or blackboards.

Next week a new school year will begin, my last at Marshall Islands High School. I’m definitely less excited about this upcoming year, probably because I’ve already done what I’ll be doing. I assume it’s a natural reaction, but I think it’s a good indication that one more year is probably a good limit. I don’t want to be here if I’m no longer excited to be here.

One of the six girls who was selected to be Taiwan Scholars, one not from my school, recently declined the offer due to personal reasons. In response, the Taiwan Embassy chose another one of my students as the alternate. She accepted and is now on board. That means five out of the six scholars are from Marshall Islands High School. I’m quite proud of that. We’re having dinner at a Chinese restaurant tomorrow, the same one I went to earlier with the same group of girls. However, the newly selected scholar wasn’t a part of our group at that time, so now we need to include her. The same rule applies – no forks allowed.

Last week three students left to attend school in Palau. It was a very touching scene at the airport. Their relatives and even random strangers approached them to shake their hands as they departed. I think everyone recognized the importance of what those three students were about to do. I imagine the reception will be much larger when the Taiwan girls leave.

The total number going to Palau should have been four. One student was unable to go because he’s been stranded on an outer island for over three weeks now. It’s extremely frustrating and unfortunate. Palau Community College even paid for his plane ticket to go to Palau because his grades were very good. I informed his parents and they made arrangements for him to fly back to Majuro on Air Marshall Islands. Four canceled flights later, he’s still out there. Palau has already changed his ticket once to accommodate him. Every time they do it they lose $75, and he’s still not here. I’ve e-mailed Palau again to ask them to change it again but haven’t heard back. It’s ludicrous from every perspective. What this kid has had to overcome to even get to this point is monumental. And now that he’s successfully reached the end, he’s being obstructed by the government airline. Placement tests at Palau Community College are already over, and classes start tomorrow. I’m not sure what’s going to happen to this student but I don’t think it will be anything good. What a shame.

I realized this week that I’m exactly half-way to my savings goal that will allow me to travel around the world for a year. That makes sense since I’m half-way done with working in the Marshall Islands. If all goes according to plan, I’ll be going home with a comfortable amount of money and can begin shopping and planning for what I’m tentatively calling one big fucking trip. It’s a really satisfying feeling knowing that I’m slowly achieving a very large long-term goal.

Hmm, I should probably share some sort of story to properly end this very stream of consciousness post. Let’s see, oh! I got puked on two nights ago. Vomit stories are always fun because the people reading them aren’t covered in vomit and get to read about someone who is. For some reason throwing up has become a very common incident in my life recently, though it’s never myself who’s doing the upchucking.

I was out Friday night with some friends and was walking through a bar when I hear the familiar sound of dense oatmeal hitting the floor. Unfortunately, it was also accompanied by the feeling of something warm with the consistency of a milkshake hitting my calf and oozing down my leg. The dude who puked on me sort of stumbled away without even saying anything and I was stuck standing there with his gift dribbling down my leg.

Have you ever really thought how ridiculous it is to get hit by vomit? I mean, at any given moment, how many people are vomiting? Even in a bar, it’s not that many. Not to mention that there’s a lot of space and the trajectory of the vomit really doesn’t cover very much. And I just happened to be walking through the 1.5 square feet that was being vomited on at that split second? Like seriously, what the hell. If I had began walking a half second later, or earlier, or had taken a different path, or had stopped to talk to someone, or if I was walking at a different pace, or if someone was behind me or in front of me to force me to walk at a different pace, my leg would have never encountered puke. But no, the stars aligned and I got hit by projectile puke.

After I got puked on, I had another problem. What the hell do I do? I can’t just stand there, yet I don’t want to move with vomit on my foot. I want to wash it off, but there isn’t exactly a shower in the bar. I could try washing it off with sink water, but then I would just cover the floor with diluted puke. For a brief moment I thought about dunking my foot in the toilet, but decided against it. Plus, that would mean that I have to look at it, which I hadn’t done yet and really didn’t want to do. Finally, I decided that standing in the pool of puke probably wasn’t the best idea and slowly made my way outside in the hopes that it would magically rain on my leg or something. So I slowly sauntered out of the bar, the vomit squishing nicely in between the sole of my foot and my flip-flop, including in between my toes. Once I made it out I was once again stuck. There isn’t exactly a hose or a pump located on every street corner of Majuro. I thought about going home, but didn’t want to drag a puked on leg into some poor guy’s taxi. There really needs to be some in-bar pamphlet about what to do if you get puked on, kind of like those in-flight pamphlets that direct you to the nearest exit in case of emergency. At the very least there can be a hose that drops down from the ceiling like an oxygen mask. There’s a surprisingly lack of options once you’re covered in puke.

In the end, I squished my way towards a mud puddle and washed myself off with… mud. It was awesome. I made these nice mudpuke pies and my leg was now puked on, smelly, and muddy. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so awesome in my entire life. I mean, I was definitely ready to go hit on some hot chick.

“Hey baby, can I buy you a drink?”

“Sure super handsome guy… wait, what’s that smell?”

“Oh, that’s just my leg.”

“Why does your leg smell oh so handsome guy who I’m totally attracted to?”

“It’s covered in vomit.”

“What?”

“Yeah, but don’t worry, I slapped some mud over it so it’s all good.”

“Wow, that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard, let’s go back to my place right now!”

Yeah, probably not.

In the end I went back in and made my friends tolerate me for a little bit while I danced and they maintained a respectful vomit radius around me.

You know, that reminds me. In college I puked out of a car window and it flew back in and hit five of my friends right in the face in addition to permanently violating my friend’s car. The next day, one of them told me, “You know you’ve got good friends when you can puke in their face and don’t kick you in the face the next day.”

I think dancing with you while you have mudpuke on your leg should also be added to that. Somewhere, Brian, Paul, Tristan, Gerbil, and Ann are smiling.