Dartmouth in Biloxi
Dartmouth in Biloxi
Adventures in Dixieland Part II*
My First Visit to Taco Bell
Hey Y’all!
Somebody at dinner last night told me I had developed a “southern twang.” I could not be prouder.
Most workers here take Sunday off. I decided to continue Dan Killeen’s tradition of making a Sunday trash crew. Unfortunately, everybody who committed to cleaning up East Biloxi with me found a ride to a New Orleans. So while they piled 12 people into two cars to go explore Bourbon Street and the Lower Ninth Ward, I donned my latex gloves and started to pick up cigarette butts. I worked on Pass Rd. (where Hands On is located) instead of East Biloxi because my ride joined the crew on their way to New Orleans.
Picking up trash by oneself is not fun. I entertained myself by making up life stories of the person who decided the sidewalk was an appropriate trash can for her pregnancy test or the man who lost his socks somewhere along the way. But boredom soon forced me to decrease my goal of reaching Wall-Mart. I grew frustrated with all the people driving by and honking: if they were honking appreciation, I wanted to yell at them to get out of their cars and come help; if they were honking at the (good-looking) girl on the side of the road, I wanted to yell at them.
Then, I felt a tap on my shoulder. “Remember? Friday? Me llamo Alfonso. Cual es tu nombre?” This is not as entirely sketchy as it seems. “Friday” does not refer to a magical night that I spent with Alfonso, but an ESL discussion class that I attended with a few other Hands On volunteers. (Disclaimer: Everything from here on out was said in broken Spanglish and could all be a complete lie. As most of you know, me + Spanish = big mistake.) Alfonso asked me how far I planned to go; I lied and said Wall-Mart. He showed me his Wall-Mart bag and pulled out two pairs of work gloves. He said he saw me earlier and wanted to come back and help. I spent the next hour speaking Spanish, listening to Alfonso’s English responses, and stuffing deteriorating Popeye’s containers into our third trash bag.
When we reached Wall-Mart, Alfonso insisted “We go to Taco Bell.” Taco Bell disgusts me. For more reasons than the breakout of E Coli that it was responsible for earlier this year. “Ah pero no tengo dinero.” “I pay! I pay!” And so, to be polite to the man that already bought me gloves (did I mention they were pink?) and spent two hours picking up trash with me, I abandoned my morals and went to Taco Bell. For the record, it actually wasn’t that bad.
*With creativity credit given to Miss Elizabeth Alabama Mills.
-Elizabeth Mitchell '10
Adventures in Dixieland Part II*
My First Visit to Taco Bell
Hey Y’all!
Somebody at dinner last night told me I had developed a “southern twang.” I could not be prouder.
Most workers here take Sunday off. I decided to continue Dan Killeen’s tradition of making a Sunday trash crew. Unfortunately, everybody who committed to cleaning up East Biloxi with me found a ride to a New Orleans. So while they piled 12 people into two cars to go explore Bourbon Street and the Lower Ninth Ward, I donned my latex gloves and started to pick up cigarette butts. I worked on Pass Rd. (where Hands On is located) instead of East Biloxi because my ride joined the crew on their way to New Orleans.
Picking up trash by oneself is not fun. I entertained myself by making up life stories of the person who decided the sidewalk was an appropriate trash can for her pregnancy test or the man who lost his socks somewhere along the way. But boredom soon forced me to decrease my goal of reaching Wall-Mart. I grew frustrated with all the people driving by and honking: if they were honking appreciation, I wanted to yell at them to get out of their cars and come help; if they were honking at the (good-looking) girl on the side of the road, I wanted to yell at them.
Then, I felt a tap on my shoulder. “Remember? Friday? Me llamo Alfonso. Cual es tu nombre?” This is not as entirely sketchy as it seems. “Friday” does not refer to a magical night that I spent with Alfonso, but an ESL discussion class that I attended with a few other Hands On volunteers. (Disclaimer: Everything from here on out was said in broken Spanglish and could all be a complete lie. As most of you know, me + Spanish = big mistake.) Alfonso asked me how far I planned to go; I lied and said Wall-Mart. He showed me his Wall-Mart bag and pulled out two pairs of work gloves. He said he saw me earlier and wanted to come back and help. I spent the next hour speaking Spanish, listening to Alfonso’s English responses, and stuffing deteriorating Popeye’s containers into our third trash bag.
When we reached Wall-Mart, Alfonso insisted “We go to Taco Bell.” Taco Bell disgusts me. For more reasons than the breakout of E Coli that it was responsible for earlier this year. “Ah pero no tengo dinero.” “I pay! I pay!” And so, to be polite to the man that already bought me gloves (did I mention they were pink?) and spent two hours picking up trash with me, I abandoned my morals and went to Taco Bell. For the record, it actually wasn’t that bad.
*With creativity credit given to Miss Elizabeth Alabama Mills.
-Elizabeth Mitchell '10
posted by Dartmouth in Biloxi at 7:05 PM
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