Hurricane Sandy ripped through scenic Wellesley College last Monday, but not as hard as the screams about classes being cancelled ripped through the air of every dining hall and res hall. Wellesley has not cancelled classes for 27 years and during mid-term season, everyone could a break from their bad case of the Mondays.
I travelled home this past weekend to deal with the New Jersey fall-out. My mom still doesn’t have power, but she certainly has a sense of humor.
Mom: The wireless is out! I can’t get new books on my Kindle
Dani: Why don’t you just go to read something in my room?
Mom: No, sweetie, the wi-fi is out in your room also.
Dani: D’oh. I meant a real book.
My mother, who lives alone, is too short to close our garage door manually. She is, however, a thrifty lady, who has been using flameless candles instead of real fire. She even put a teeny tiny flameless candle in our downstairs bathroom so we don’t have to keep the door open.
In reality, Sandy is probably the worst disaster to ever strike New Jersey. Except perhaps for Snooki. My high school, Peddie, postponed our epic homecoming rivalry match-up. The first time since an outbreak of polio (although Blair would argue measles).
On my ride back from the dirty Jerz, the radio was only playing Bruce Springsteen and Bon Jovi. Every commercial said, Jersey Strong. Despite having to wait an hour and a half for gas, I still didn’t have to pump it myself. New Jersey is still pumping fists and not gas (while we have it).