Of Wasabi, Subway, and Defensive Songs

I don't know how many of you lovely readers, if there are any at all, know this, but I'm currently taking night classes at MIT. I know, that sounds ridiculously geeky, but they're like classes for high schoolers. And we have a ton of fun jumping out the windows (there's a ledge, don't worry), giggling over nothing in class, and giving certain people nicknames that they'll never know... (well, the never knowing part backfired a little but you know.)

But of course, everyone loves dinner. We usually go to the food court in the student center, which has BUBBLE TEA! Bubble Tea is this Asian drink with like, black squishy thingys (can't remember the name) in different flavored drinks. Basically, it's sex in a cup.

But that's not what I wanted to blog about, no matter how amazing it is. See, my friend decided to try sushi one day. Now, I guess she doesn't have sushi very often, because she didn't know what wasabi is. For those of you who don't know, wasabi is a pastey green thing and is VERY VERY VERY spicy. Not in like a pepper way. In like a "OH MY GOD WHO JUST SLAPPED ME?" way. Personally, not a huge fan. But anyway, she takes the entire chunk of wasabi they gave her, and eats it in one bite. I didn't notice what she was eating, so I was rather scared when I looked over and found her rocking back and forth in her chair, clutching her ears. Once she had chugged half a bottle of juice, she proceded to accuse me of trying to kill her for the next few... days.

There is also a Subway in the food court. My friends usually get dinner from there, and the sketchy guys who work there are always trying to talk to them, asking questions, talking to each other in their own language (we couldn't figure out what it was, beyond the fact that it wasn't Spanish) about them, etc. Then, last week, my friend was just innocently eating her sub when she picked it up off the wrapper. And what did she find? Hugely written across the center, a telephone number. Most likely, the Subway Guy's telephone number. The Subway Guy who had to be at least 20-something when she hasn't even turned 15 yet. We don't go there anymore.

I also learned The Rape Song, which has become the unofficial theme song of my history class. It goes something like this:

Stop! Don't touch me there.
This is my private square.
R-A-P-E
Get your hands away from me!

There are hand movements too (including sign language during the spelling part, just in case you know, your rapist is deaf.)

<3 Helen