Soaking it in

On Day 3 in Disney, we went to Animal Kingdom. Throughout the morning, we debated whether we should do the treacherous River Rapids ride.

Years ago, we naively went on this ride without ponchos, raincoats, etc. We learned a pricey lesson that day. After the ride, our clothes were completely drenched. We immediately stopped at a gift shop and bought Animal Kingdom towels and T-shirts.

This year, we decided to be brave. This time, we knew what to expect and we could prepare. (Except Trevor, anyway. Trevor had never been tempted to go on the ride. He adamantly said he would be waiting for us after the ride, and he would laugh at us when we were soaked.)

Dad and Trevor had been carrying all of our ponchos in their bulging backpacks, so we gathered around them and we each received a 10-year-old, tattered poncho. (Except Kenzie, who brought her rain jacket. Kenzie would not be caught dead in a poncho. I’m surprised she was willing to sit with all of us poncho-wearing freaks on the ride.)

Dad also decided not to wear a poncho, more out of stubbornness than style concerns, though.

Tyler decided that he only needed to protect his shorts and his shoes, because he brought an extra T-shirt. So he wrapped the poncho around his waist and confidently told us how brilliant and prepared he was.

As Dad watched people exit the ride, he started to wish he had a poncho, but we had left the extra one with Trevor, who was now sitting on a bench somewhere eagerly waiting to tell us ‘I told you so.’

Mom told Dad to ask one of the strangers leaving the ride for a poncho. He could at least ask for the Wal-Mart bags that guy is wearing on his feet. But Dad decided not to. He decided he would be fine. Kenzie then told him he was stubborn, and he deserved to get soaked.

So we loaded up onto the circular raft, which seats about 12, and low and behold, we were sitting with another Mandeville family. (So Kenzie was right to worry about being caught in a poncho. We may someday cross paths with this family again, and they might have forever judged her for being in a poncho, like the rest of us.)

The other family did not have ponchos on, and we all silently pitied them.

The Disney worker checked our seatbelts, told us to leave our shoes on, and then he pushed us off down the river. As soon as we were out of sight, Tyler removed his shoes and put them in the plastic circle in the center of the raft. I put my poncho hood on, and off we went.

We soon approached a hill, and because of the way the raft was situated, Tyler and Andrew went down backwards and were hit with a blast of water from behind. Somehow the water went under their ponchos and made its way to their seats, thoroughly soaking their shirts and their shorts. Dad’s shorts also took a hit.

Kenzie and I did okay, partially because as the raft went over the hill, we pulled our hoods tight and ducked our heads.

Mom also did fine, but our fellow Mandevillians did not. They were all soaked.

As we waddled off the ride shaking water out of our ponchos and our clothes, Trevor greeted us with a smile. We acknowledged that he was smart to sit that one out. Andrew and Tyler then spent 10 minutes trying to dry their shorts off under the dryers in the bathroom.

While at Animal Kingdom, we also rode Mount Everest a number of times, and we went to the Bug’s Life show, which we mainly do for tradition. The audience is mostly children, but we still enjoy it. At one point in the show, a fake bug crawls under your butt (which is actually a burst of air from your chair) and surprisingly the loudest shriek in the room came from Kenzie.

Flying by the seat of our pants

Once upon a time, I thought my family was the most responsible, most reliable and most nerdy family around. But all of that has changed. (Except for the nerdy part.)

Last week at this time, my family and I were in Disney World. We stayed at the park until around 1 a.m., riding Splash Mountain, browsing the gift shops and sitting on Main Street eating cookies. It was our last night, and we wanted to soak it in.

After our long night, we flew home early Saturday morning. Our flight was at 9:30, but we left our hotel at 6:30 because the free shuttle from our hotel required that we leave three hours early. So before the sun was up, we had a pleasant ride to the airport with a bunch of wide-awake, loud children. One of them even sat in the row behind us and threw up. Oh, what a beautiful morning.

When we arrived around 7:30, Tyler checked the monitors and told us our gate. Mom checked as well and mentioned something about two flights to New Orleans and two different gates. I did not pay attention to the details. I just trusted my responsible family members to decide where we needed to go. And I was too busy deciding whether I wanted Au Bon Pain or Starbucks.

We ended up at Gate 128. I soon ventured to Au Bon Pain for breakfast, Kenzie went to Smoothie King, and the boys went to McDonald’s or some equally gross fast food place. We eventually reconvened and made ourselves comfortable. We had two hours to go.

Dad started listening to his Seinfeld comedy CD and laughing to himself, eventually recruiting me to share an ear bud and listen along. Tyler and Kenzie eventually fell asleep.

Around 8:45, Dad casually said that it was strange that a different flight was currently boarding at our gate. We decided our flight must be running behind.

Around 9:20, Mom looked up from checking her email on her phone. She heard an announcement saying our flight had moved to Gate 124. Mom alerted us all to this news, and we moseyed along to Gate 124, wondering why no one else from our gate was moving with us. We assumed they were just taking their time.

When we arrived at Gate 124, we found a new place to camp out. We settled in, and Dad walked over to a Southwest employee and asked when we would board. He looked at Dad, surprised, and said the flight had already boarded.

I imagine this was a tough blow for a man who is always early, always organized, always on top of everything.

Dad rushed back over to us and frantically told us to hustle onto the plane. We grabbed our belongings and scrambled after him, some of us still half asleep. We walked onto a pretty full flight and quickly dispersed to the few remaining seats.

It was a close call, but we made it.

We then had another close call when we landed.

As we were loading our stuff in the car to drive home from the airport, Mom dramatically announced that she left a bag on the plane. She said it was a small bag, and she couldn’t remember what was in it. So the best plan of action was to immediately track it down.

Mom went back into the airport, and Dad followed a minute later. Kenzie, Tyler, Trevor and Aunt Sanny (who had come to the airport to pick us up) then proceeded to drive in circles around the airport for a while. After a surprisingly short period of time, Mom and Dad emerged from the airport, having successfully retrieved Mom’s bag. They hopped in the car, and Dad told us how it happened.

Dad: It’s a good thing I went in to help Mom because she was waiting in the U.S. Airways line, which was not only the wrong airline but also a mile-long line. So I ran to the front of the Southwest line, and they gave me a pass to go through security. I then went to the front of the security line and then I raced to our gate with my shoes in my hand.

He did all of that for a hair dryer and an old pair of shoes, by the way.

Somehow we all made it home, with all of our belongings. 

Fuming

When I arrived home from law school, I felt completely worn out from the semester. I felt like I could nap for days.

But today’s exhaustion surpasses that. Today I am not only mentally and physically exhausted. Today my legs actually ache. Today I have a battle scar in the form of a healing blister on my left heel.

This is a result of my family’s Disney World “vacation” this week. This “vacation” required constant powerwalking and occasional jogging in sweltering hot weather.

We walk at these ridiculous paces to keep up with my dad. My dad always walks with urgency. Even when he walks around our house, he will tailgate you if you are moving slowly in front of him.

To make matters worse this week, he loves Disney World. So the whole family had to move in fast-forward to keep up with him. At times we tried to tell him to slow down, but this often was to no avail, as we spent most of the week scrambling far behind him. We really barely even saw him. We only saw glimpses of his head bobbing above the crowd in the distance.

We walked behind him in a line all week. Mom and Tyler consistently held up the caboose, with Tyler sneaking off to buy ice cream every 20 minutes. I fell somewhere in the middle, occasionally having to walk with a fierce limp because of my blister. Kenzie and Andrew also fell in the middle. Andrew constantly checked his Disney app for wait times, and Kenzie occasionally demanded that we all slow down and smell the roses, if you will.

Trevor could be found in the middle as well, or in the hotel room taking a nap.

In many ways, Trevor is a mini version of Dad, but this week he set himself apart. He did not want to come to Disney World with us at first. He said the crowds would be miserable, and he would rather not disrupt his daily routine of sitting at our kitchen table at home and eating Taco Bell.

We managed to drag him along, but beyond that he refused to concede to us on a number of hot topics. For example, on Thursday, a 90-degree day of suffocating sunshine, Trevor insisted, against our protests, on wearing his jacket.

We spent Thursday at Universal Studios. The morning was a cool and cloudy 80 degrees. For a while, Trevor’s jacket did not strike us as unusual. By late morning, however, the sun was in full force, and we were all in maximum sweat mode. This is when Mom noticed, with horror, that Trevor still had his jacket on.

Mom: Trevor, why are you wearing your jacket?! Take that off.

Trevor, with sweat glistening on his forehead: I’m fine. I’ll take it off if I’m hot.

Soon after Mom’s attempt, we harassed Trevor again.

Kenzie: Trevor, you look ridiculous. Take off your jacket.

Trevor: I’m fine!!!

We decided that Trevor wanted to leave the jacket on because it had pockets, and he wanted to keep his phone on him in his pocket at all times.

Sam: Trevor, Dad can hold your phone. You’re not going to get lost.

Trevor, nearly melting with sweat: I’ll take it off if I’m hot!!!

We reminded Trevor that he is 18 years old, and if he were to be separated from us without a phone, he could fend for himself and find us, by borrowing a phone, asking an employee for help, etc. Trevor’s response to this was, ‘I’m fine!!!!’

We reminded Trevor that we once lost Tyler in Animal Kingdom when he was younger and phoneless, and he managed to find us again pretty quickly. Soon after we realized he was gone, Dad got a call on his phone from a NY number. He answered and heard a mopey Tyler ask where we were. Tyler said he was at the dinosaur, which wasn’t very helpful because there are a number of dinosaurs in Animal Kingdom. Nevertheless, Tyler persevered and we found him. Obviously, an 18-year-old Trevor could manage to do the same.

But Trevor continued to wear his jacket and resist a lot more badgering from his family. Eventually though, Trevor ditched the jacket – probably because he needed to let his sweaty shirt air out – and he then carried it around with him for the rest of the day.

A series of unfortunate, boring events

Oh, my poor blog. It has become a shadow of its former self. To those of you who still check it, thank you. Also, get a life.

JK, I love you, Mom!

So John called me the other night at midnight:

Sam: Hey.

John: Sam, I’m so upset.

Sam: Why?

John: I killed my fish.

Sam: Oh my gosh, what happened?

John: Well, I had this little fake tree in the fish bowl for him to swim around and play with, and I decided I needed to clean it. So while I was changing his water, I washed the tree with dishwashing soap. I thought I rinsed it thoroughly but when I put it in the bowl, I saw suds float to the top of the water.

Sam: Oh my gosh.

John:  Then I saw him eat the suds.

Sam: Oh my gosh.

John: I know. I killed my fish. I feel horrible.

Sam: I’m so sorry. That’s awful.

John: I just feel like I let him down.

Sam: You just need to buy a new fish and take good care of it to honor Kahlua’s memory.

John: Yeah, I’m going to buy a new one soon.

Poor John. He’s really a nice person. Don’t judge him for killing his fish.

Speaking of killing stuff, I killed a spider today. I think the worst part of living alone/with one girl roommate is that I don’t have anyone to kill spiders. My roommate wasn’t even home today to share in my horror. I had to swat at this huge, menacing spider with my shoe to get it away from the wall, then it started frantically scurrying around while I yelled at it. Eventually I smashed it, and then I came to the sad realization that I would have to clean its guts off the floor. The whole experience was totally horrifying.

Sadly, though, this was the highlight of my day. Otherwise, I just studied. I also ate four cookies and then decided five would be too many. I’m really looking forward to tomorrow so I can eat four more cookies.

Don’t go to law school.

Livin' law vida loca

Dear fans,

I am so sorry for any emotional distress I may have negligently inflicted upon you due to my lack of blogging. It is just so hard being a lawyer.

I went home for Fall Break over the weekend and rediscovered the real world. I am proud to say I came in second in one of the Schott family pumpkin-carving contests. Yes, over a course of four days, we managed to have two pumpkin-carving contests. John won the first one, and Tyler won the second. Big freakin’ deal.

Here are a ton of pumpkin pictures: 

The following three are from my pumpkin:

 

The next two are Tyler's:

Andrew:

Trevor:

This is the contest that John won, by the way. And I just realized I don't have a picture of his, so just use your imagination. His featured a weird face and pumpkin seeds appearing to spew from its mouth. And Trevor's came in second for this one.

Now, some stories about law school life.

My Criminal Law professor is a very old man. He is also very blunt. He has a thick Southern accent and demands that we pronounce his name with a Southern drawl. I don’t think he realizes he is asking us to do this. I think that’s just the only way he knows how to say it. On the first day of class, Professor Miley said, ‘It is not MY-lee, like most of you will say. It is MAAAH-lee.’

Professor Miley likes to tell us how tough law school used to be back in his day. He says when a professor would call on a student back then, the student would have to stand up and talk, without the help of his notebooks or textbooks. Miley tries to occasionally give us the same intimidating experience. He once called on a girl who began glancing at her computer – probably looking for an answer in her notes – and he suddenly said, ‘Close ya lid!’ To be fair, the girl does have a huge computer and most of the time you can just barely see her eyeballs rising above it.

Another time, while talking about some case involving drugs, Miley asked us if we knew that when you hand a marijuana joint to someone, that constitutes a sale as a matter of law. After he delivered this little tip, which he clearly believed to be mind-blowing, he looked as us accusingly and said, ‘Think about that at your next pot party!’

Miley typically spends most of class time babbling – I mean, lecturing – but he also calls on students at times. Lucky me, I was among the first to be called on in his class. We had read a case about this man who had been stopped by police multiple times and arrested because he could not show the police ‘credible and reliable identification.’ The court was trying to decide whether the law that allowed police to stop loiterers and arrest them for being unable to show such identification was ‘unconstitutionally vague.’

He started by asking me what the issue was in the case, and I said basically what is in the paragraph above. He walked over toward my side of the room and asked me some tougher questions, and at some point he asked me a question that required me to think for a second. But after a moment of hesitation, the impatient old man said, ‘Is my question unconstitutionally vague?!’ Everyone around me nodded – he does ask vague, weird questions – but I just did my best to make up some kind of answer that was as vague as his question.

Meanwhile, in Torts class, Dingles has decided I am a ‘contracts expert.’ This is obviously total nonsense. I simply gave a correct answer to a question about a contract early on in the semester, and Dingles has since referred to me for questions about contracts. The questions always require an easy answer. He will say something like, ‘Sam, how does it work when you take a bus? Do you just hop on the bus and tell the driver hi and take a seat?’ And I say, ‘No, you buy a ticket.’ (Which implies a contract … or something. I am really not an expert.)

So today, we were talking about a case where a newborn baby was abducted from a hospital. The baby was returned safely four months later. Should the hospital have to pay the parents of the baby for negligently causing them emotional distress? In the middle of questioning another student, Dingles suddenly shouted, very quickly, ‘This is a question for Sam! Sam, how do we get a baby?!’

Cue deer-in-headlights look from Sam.

How do we … get a baby?

The whole class laughed because his question sounded so, you know, awkward. I think the class also finds it funny that he calls on me all the damn time. Once the laughing stopped, I stalled and said, ‘What … is the question … exactly?’ And the class laughed again, and I hesitantly laughed along, pretending like it would be totally no big deal if I had to talk about the birds and the bees in front of the class.

Anyway, he clarified, saying, ‘Say I’m pregnant and am ready to have my baby. What happens?’ And I said, ‘You go to your doctor that I guess you have a contract with already.’ Or something.

Phew.