The Californian #1

Written from: Munich.

1)   Place the next set of garb in grab distance, should a friend or bystander decide to get cute.

2)   Losen all belts and buttons. Sag a tig.

3)   Wrap the towel tightly well above the hips.

4)   Drop trou.

5)   Re-robe below towel, reaching under if necessary.

6)   Remove towel and button pants.

No one had to show me how to do this and it is in no way exotic or interesting. I am from California and this is the surf change.

However, transpose this to the Waschcenter in Sudstadt, Hannover, and every eye is fixed on me. I look more bummish than usual; my pants have visible mud and blood stains, my shirt and sweater have dog and boar hairs everywhere, and my hair is greasy and dirty from a week of just rinsing. Most of the crowd is looking at me with disgust; they’re older and this is disgusting. My bag only adds to the-CIA-put-a-chip-in-my-brain look I have going, which is only creeping them out more. Then I reach into the bag, and pull out my smaller work bag and take out my MacBook Air to write what would become this. With one action, the disapproving old man is smiling and all are unconcerned with what I’m doing, having apparently forgot about the mess I walked in as.

“He has a computer; surely the blood covering his pants is from something wholesome.”

Blog #2. 362^nd Day, 27^th Year. Complete.

Retrospection: Tuck-n-tail, pits, feets and face…if you can sink wash these sans mess, you have the mark of a JV Traveler.