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Off to See Dead Bodies |
There’s nothing quite like the stench of rotting corpses to make you glad that you’re not a rotting corpse. On March 15, a few of my fellow classmates and I took a trip to see many of the aforementioned rotting, mephitic cadavers at a chiropractic institute. Why does a chiropractic institute have interest in packs of dead flesh? Your guess is as good as mine. All I know is that dead bodies are neat.
Our trip began in fourth period, which was the period directly after the period wherein I miserably failed an English test (got something horrid like an A-.) Needless to say…Zeus, I hate that phrase. You know as soon as someone says it, whatever is needless will come spewing out of his or her mouth in quick order. Anyway, needless to say, I was a little depressed after third period, but I consoled myself with the fact that I’d soon be in the presence of that thick, almost tangibly putrid stink of dead bodies.
We left fourth period about halfway through, after receiving our well-endowed sack lunches, and scampered off (it’s better than prancing) to the Metro, where we would begin the next leg of our journey. Once upon the blue/red/green? line, I immediately sank into what I like to call “David quiet time” where I sit with a gaping mouth and stare out the window. I didn’t catch what anyone was doing at this time, and thus can provide none of my usual interesting insights.
Our first train ride was rather uneventful, but that hasn’t kept me from writing two or three wasted sentences about it. Once we got off said train, though, we had lunch. Many of us cited logic in our decision to eat lunch before we saw the decaying buckets of guts. Upon opening my bag of lunch, I immediately feasted my eyes upon my swine and fermented milk sandwich. But there was something unnatural protruding out the sides of my sandwich. Upon closer inspection, I determined that the aforesaid unnatural protrusions were actually green and red “rabbit food.” I’m a man. As a man, I take offense to rabbit food being placed upon my filthy swine sandwiches. I found the nearest trash receptacle, and immediately tossed all contents of the sandwich in. Damned if I was going to eat anything touched by that…vegetation. I called myself a good boy, patted my head, settled down, and decided to see what irregularities there were with my grandma’s cookies. After examination, I detected none and feasted. As a precaution in case I was separated from the group and was forced to survive on the Metro by myself, I saved my Ruffles.
Once the next train arrived at the station, most of us had finished our sandwiches, one way or another. We boarded the next train, which was a bit more crowded than the first, so the majority of us did not have the benefit of seats. We who did not get seats stood like packed cattle towards the back of the car where we were to hang onto metal rungs which would prevent our bodies from getting splashed against the back wall. This train ride too, proved miraculously uneventful, which is good, because an event on the Metro would more often than not involve gunfire.
Eventually, after buying another useless ticket which no one from the Metro Authority ever had the gumption to check, we made it to Rotting Corpse Institute. We had to walk some distance to get there, though, and there’s something about walking for any distance in downtown L.A. that just doesn’t do it for me. We made it to the morgue unscathed and only a few minutes late. I have one beef, though. As soon as we set foot in the establishment of the dead, we were accosted by a man who wanted to take our class photo. As I stated before, I’m a man. As a man, I don’t like to take pictures. I especially don’t like taking pictures when I have a hankering for seeing some decomposed carcasses. I put on my best petulant face, which is sort of difficult for me to do, as my face lacks most ability for expression, as evidenced by picture at top.
We then proceeded to an hour long presentation on chiropractics! It seemed there was some higher power that was seeking to prevent me from looking upon the moldy remains of my fellow human beings. I decided to relieve the boredom by having a crack at my Ruffles. Note: When in a quiet room, do thy best not to attract notice by opening cellophane bags of chips. After being hushed by my teacher who was along for the ride, I decided to solve the Ruffles enigma at a later date.
After quietly dozing off a few times, I woke to the sound of “cadaver.” Immediately I jumped wide awake and ran down with my classmates to the room full of dead folks like a giddy child. Upon entering the room, latex glove firmly attached to my hand, I decided to do some poking around. After noticing the decayed state of the cadavers, I determined to leave my poking and prodding to a later date. The state of the corpses did not stop a few enterprising individuals. There were livers and hearts flying about as if it was a magnificent organic baseball game. My friend, Junior He-who-likes-to-shove-fingers-up-pharynxs, later bragged to me, that, yes, he had shoved his fingers up a dead body’s pharynx. I promptly congratulated him on his exploits. There were a few who were not as entertained by the goings on in this tomb, and these people are referred to in most circles as “girls.” Their response to everything in said room was a resounding “eww,” which is not conducive to allowing people to enjoy the dead bodies at their leisure.
Once we left the house of horrors, we hopped back on the train. Our conversations on the train consisted of talking really loudly about the dead bodies and their putrid stench. We said things like, “I really enjoyed the many pounds of rotting, dead flesh I just saw.” This didn’t cause much of a reaction among the other occupants of the car, which leads me to the conclusion that dead bodies aren’t really much of a novelty on the Metro.
On the way home, I had a masculinity contest with myself, wherein I stayed standing the whole way back, even when seats were made available in which I could sit. By the end, I was the last one standing. I really can’t help being such a hardcore guy, it just comes with being me.