Dear Wednesday morning floor waxer,
We really need to stop meeting like this. Me, bursting out of my dorm room at 10:26 for my 10:30 class across campus. You, intently waxing the floor in front of the elevator. I always rush past you, spitting out a labored “Sorry, excuse me!” as I slam into the door to the stairs and hit the same place on my hip that’s been bruised since the beginning of the semester. I rush off to class and forget about you until I head back to my dorm at 11:20, where I see you waxing the exact same spot on the floor that I left you with. No longer in a rush, I have time to smile as I walk past and politely excuse myself. You never so much as speak a word, often not even raising your head to acknowledge my existence. I sheepishly return to my room, tail between my legs, to wonder for a few minutes about why you refuse to speak to me before signing on to Facebook and forgetting all about it until the following Wednesday. Why do you ignore me, Wednesday morning floor waxer? I am certain that we could be great friends if only you would give me a chance! I fear that I might frighten you, with my disarrayed appearance and chaotic demeanor as I run to class. I certainly don’t jibe with the relaxed, stress-free air you clearly strive to maintain. Your zen rivals that of Miyagi himself. I COULD BE YOUR DANIEL-SAN. TEACH ME YOUR WAYS.
Sincerely,
That crazy girl in room 422.
