Free advice: Don't ever say, "I'll never come back to Muncie."
I've graduated from Ball State before. I've felt the glee of moving away from Muncie, even laughing maniacally as I sped away. I thought my Muncie days were over. That was dumb.
"I'm going to spread my clich+â-¬d, metaphorical wings and soar where clich+â-¬d eagles dare," I once said. "I'm the King of Rock, there is none higher, biznatch."
That was May 1999. Resolved: I am a tool.
"I'll never live in Muncie again, that's for sure."
Since saying that, I've had three Muncie addresses. The irony is palpable. Come on over here and feel my irony. You know you want to.
Fate, that old cosmic joker, beat me about the head and face. "Say my name, bitch," fate ordered, and I obliged. Not that I'm scarred for life.
So I ended up back here, wondering how to escape again. Five years later, I'm about to finish grad school -- but lest I anger fate again, I dare not say the wrong thing now.
Remember: Do not toy with fate. Do not make brash statements such as, "I will never return to this town of unlimited sucking and virtually unlimited dining and tattoo options."
Fate will laugh heartily before punching you in the crotch and scampering away.
Do not expect fate to bring you wild success, a lovely spouse, a multi-million dollar job, clamoring fans or a car that runs.
Fate will jump out from the bushes and bitch-slap you into submission.
Your days of driving around Shafer Tower might be over. Perhaps you'll never have to drive behind That Guy With The Spoiler (a.k.a. Economy Car Subwoofer Guy) again.
Perhaps you've seen the last of the worst restaurant tippers this side of the Third World -- a notion that leaves you giddy. Fie on these local tightwads! Bitch-slap them and run!
Maybe you'll never hit a pothole the size of your home again. You might even hear your car honking, "Yippee!" in Morse Code during the night -- bent rims, broken shocks and all.
You might assume Muncie is in the past, but be careful what you say.
In movies, when bad luck strikes the good guys, someone always says, "Hey, at least it isn't raining." Monsoon season usually follows, and madcap hilarity ensues.
What you have long associated with Muncie, you might not escape for good. Muncie, just like fate, can torment you, haunt you -- make you sob, even.
Just like fate, Muncie can make you say its name, bee-otch.
Unfortunately, Muncie suits me like clothes I've outgrown: uncomfortable, restrictive and maybe a little yellowish. Maybe if I'm good, fate will help me find something roomier in the crotch.
So the idea is to find employment. I don't know where. I don't plan anything anymore. See where planning got me? See why I drink?
Finals week creeps up on us all. All too quickly, graduation arrives, and people are wondering where the time went, why we're all wearing gowns and why the security guards are dragging us toward the stage.
No matter where we go, Muncie will be in us forever, like White River E. coli -- but will we be in Muncie forever?
I tried answering that once. Look what happened.
So with that, I'll shut up.
p.s. Thanks, everybody.
Write to John at kingseyeland@bsu.edu
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