In Pursuit of the Paper boy

When you write for the Chimes, Thursday is a thrilling day. It's the day when you finally get to see the article you poured blood, sweat and tears into in print. All spread out, with a glorious headline and a picture on crisp broadsheet...and that hard earned byline in size 10 font. It's so exhilarating that among my friends, the fourth weekday has aptly earned the nickname Chimesday.

Today, the anticipation was aggravated by the fact that I had 2 article s in the news section. Literally, I killed myself for the Chimes this week, and I was going almost berserk during the day, counting down the hours before delivery.

Now lets back up. I used to have the luxury of picking up my Chimes after my noon class. It would be neatly stacked in front of the library for passersby to pick up. But that was last semester. The Chimes has now elongated that period of suspense to the point that I must wait till almost dinner before I get a copy. It drives me nearly to the brink of insanity, and today was no exception.

Naturally, the Chimes was nowhere to be found before precalc class at 4:30. But when class dismissed at 5:30, I was more than ready to find my copy. I left the class and patiently walked to the paper stand in McNally. No Chimes.

I walked farther and checked the back of Metzger, where huge stacks usually congregate. Nothing. By this time I'm trying deep breathing. This is getting ridiculous.

It's about that time that I see a student walking in front of the library. He's carrying a paper, a crisp one, with an article about gas prices on it. My heart nearly skips a beat. The Chimes is somewhere out there. I don't know where it is or how he got his paws on it, but hope streaks through my soul like lightning. I'm coming for you, Chimes. I'm coming.

It's almost dinnertime, and I'm hungry and tired and cold, but none of that seems to matter as I pick up the pace and powerwalk through campus. I peek into the cafeteria. Nothing.

I'm not fazed. I run up the steps to the student union and whip out my card. It's not working. I'm swiping. It's beeping. My heart's racing. It's not opening. I'm swiping. I'm swiping. I'm swiping.

Eventually a girl sees my antsy stuggle and opens the door. I glide in, deftly skirting the furniture in hot pursuit of the Chimes. I saunter to the office and hope explodes when I see a stack next to the door. But it's not the Chimes. It's a pile of cardboard boxes, and I mutter curses to myself as I pivot and stumble down the stairs towards the other newspaper stand outside.

I swing the door open. I run to the container, and it's full of crumpled editions from last week. I am mad. I am beyond mad. And as I whip around in a half frenzied state, I see it. A kid from my precalc class carrying the Chimes.

I see nothing but red. Adrenaline courses through my veins and I bolt to him with animalistic rage in my eyes. He takes one look at me, vicious, furious, like a mother bear looking for her lost cub. And he stops in his tracks.

"Where did you get that?" I demand, drilling holes into his copy with an iron glare.

"It's...by our precalc class" he replies and scurries away.

I don't walk. I don't care that it's completely on the other side of campus. I storm through those walkeways like a predator in pursuit of prey. I race. I run. I am going to get my fingers on the Chimes if I have to sell my soul to the devil.

And then I see him. The man singularly responsible for the collective agony that besets me every Thursday.

The paperboy.

He's fumbling with papers in the wind. He's pushing a dolly with a 3 foot stack across the road, and he's looking rather small and helpless. He's a cute kid. But I loathe him. I glare at him. If he only knew that he makes me sick with rage with his tardiness and disorganization. I take a deep breath and storm past him lest in my fury I reach out my adrenaline swollen fist and knock him down in one fell swoop.

I race over to the stack he has just replenished with the new edition. And I gasp in the blissful reunion. ME and my Chimes. United. Once again. It is a moment too poignant for words.

I fear for the boy I caught on camera, that loathesome paperboy. I fear for him, because next Thursday when he lackadaisically does his rounds with the dolly, I will likely be suppressing a neurotic fit. I will hunt him down.

Because nothing can get between a woman and her Chimes. Nothing.