Laura always tells me that I have the weirdest experiences; shower stalls, baseballs, and Big Bird aside, I'd always tell her that this stuff happens to everybody. Like today. I tried not to be a jerk and compare today to the greatness of Cinco de Mayo last year, but I couldn't stop thinking how sucky our celebration was this year. "Weird Girl" killed my Manu Chao from Ryan's speakers and puts on this awful Mexican techno, just awful awful music as she bounces along screaming for more attention. Nobody picked up the Baja Fresh so there's no food, except for a vague promise of it "coming shortly." Suz gave me her camera so I'd take pictures, as people started to gather for the pinatas. I'm trying to keep a good face on during this 50 degree May weather we're having, as the first batter swings at the pinata and breaks the stick. The shards are about a foot high at max, and so the next swinger basically touches the pinata with the broken stick and puts a slight dent in it. People start groaning and sighing, and so then someone takes the pinata and jump kicks it and just bashes it around; five minutes later it breaks. Nobody goes for the candy. Everybody's still waiting for the Baja Fresh.
Another Pinata stick is found, and everybody circles in for the last pinata. This guy picks up the stick, goes in the for the swing, and upon hitting the Pinata, the stick shatters in half. The broken shard backspins and flies straight into Kat's face. Everybody gasps and Kat covers her bloodied face and runs inside. Three minutes later a fire truck and two police cars drive up, and a procession of firemen, medics, and policemen stream into the CRC, carrying cases and a stretcher, as everybody gawks out on the lawn, with the pinata candy still lying untouched on the grass. Everybody breaks into small groups, murmuring and whispering, trying to hear over each other the blaring Mexican rap. The guy who broke the stick suddenly runs into the room crying, trying to outrun his friends as they chase behind him. People start wordlessly going back into their rooms, murmuring phrases like "When Pinatas go bad" and "this has been a Cinco de Mayo of sadness." I feel bad taking any pictures, and tuck it away in my jean jacket pocket, as I look around at this intensely awkward moment of Cinco De Mayo merriment. The firemen, medics, and policemen rush out of CRC, carting Kat (in her heels) on the stretcher towards the ambulance. Nobody says anything, and I can't escape anywhere as my room is hosting this musical viral infection that is still playing. As I walk back towards the dorm with Andy, a policemen rushes past us, ordering on his walkie talkie for a "blood cleanup."
And there was still no Baja Fresh in sight.
It was such a weird and awkward scene that I felt compelled to write about it. It's been a great day other than the celebration, but sometimes I wonder how other people internalize situations such as this. Most everybody walked away, as I struggled between my feelings of deep sympathy for Kat, my depressing commiserations of the celebration, and a strange inclination of laughter at the absurdity of the whole situation (it almost felt like, in the right context, a Wes Anderson moment). ...Well! On that note... Happy Cinco de Mayo to everyone!