Math whiz quiz

Today was one of those mornings when my brain was on vacation. It didn't matter that I had a physiology exam to take, I could not focus. In a last minute attempt to jump-start my intellectual dexterity, I began quizzing myself with some multiplication problems on the way to the test. I took the first two random numbers that popped into my mind and multiplied them together, which was fine until I attempted 18 x 37. After pausing for a moment and doing my darnedest to conjure up the answer from somewhere in the depths of my brain, I realized: "oh wait, I don't know this one. Even when I am awake..."

Pants Thief

After my workout at the university fitness center the other day, I came back to my gym locker to find quite a surprise. Somebody had broken into my locker and stole my pants! You heard me right, my favorite pair of khakis were nowhere to be found—along with my cell phone, keys, and hospital ID badge that were in the pockets. Whoever it was must have liked my style because the pants were folded at the bottom of my locker, and the thief moved everything else out of the way, snagged my pants, and then put it all back in place. Running shoes, watch, backpack—all untouched. So I had to wear my running shorts around for the rest of the day. (Which looked awesome. Polo shirt and dress shoes with a lot more leg than I usually show in public…)

     The next morning, one of my classmates posted a picture on Facebook of him holding up my khakis with a caption saying: ‘Spencer Cope, we found your pants in the middle of the parking lot last night.’ And sure enough they were, in fact, my lost trousers. I think everyone in the world saw the post before I did, because I was completely baffled when I showed up for class the next day and people I hadn’t even met were coming up to me and making pants jokes. Even now, two weeks later I’ll introduce myself to someone and they'll say “oh yeah, you’re the guy who lost his pants in the parking lot.” Slightly embarrassing, but a good laugh nonetheless. (Except for the fact that I had to buy a new cell phone…)

Acorns the size of TX

I was walking through the campus last week when I noticed an oak tree with the most ridiculously huge acorns I've ever seen! They were seriously racquetball-sized. I stopped to grab a couple, but the real monstrous ones were still hanging in the uppermost parts of the tree. So naturally, I took my shoe off and heaved it into the top boughs. You're probably expecting me to say it got stuck amidst the branches, but believe it or not my shoe flew straight and true. I did, however, get some great looks from the medical professionals walking by.

Manic Monday

   Our cadaver dissection was taking much longer than anticipated, but we couldn't leave until the vertebral artery was exposed. Finally, 2 hours behind schedule, we wrapped things up and I headed off to the scrub machine. When I got there, however, the machine was full. No big deal, I'll just go up to the eleventh floor and use the other scrub machine. "Closed," wouldn't you know it. No clean scrubs tonight.
   So I grabbed my books and headed for the shuttle. I joined the other students at the bus stop, and after half an hour of small talk, I began to get suspicious. It should have been here... Just then, a university police officer pulled up on his segway (awesome, I know) and informed us that we had already missed the last bus. So I embarked on the long and arduous journey by foot. Oh yeah, and it was 102 degrees outside. A little while later, I'm cutting across the now empty parking when I notice something rather unfortunate. The back tire of my car had blown out in the heat. I rummaged through the trunk and set to work putting on the spare. Did I mention it was 102 degrees, and I was in the middle of an unshaded, black asphalt parking lot for almost an hour? (The jack was stuck) By the time I made it to the tire store, I was a hearty blend of motor oil, sweat, & formaldehyde. Then, as if that wasn't bad enough, I had to shovel out $250... Not all stories have happy endings. [Unless maybe you're the tire mechanic]

Not-so-fun run

Some people run when they’re being chased, crossing a busy street, or trying to get out of the rain; others run because they actually enjoy it. I’m one of those guys. But my last marathon was a little bit different. I barely got any sleep the night before, and I wasn’t feeling so hot as I pounded out the first several miles—but I’ve never stopped mid-way through a race, and I didn’t want to miss out on all the fun. Let’s just say my stomach had different intentions, and the carb-loading I'd done the night before ended up all along the side of the road. Not once, not twice, but six different times. (I’ve never been so grateful to see a port-a-potty.) However, I did finish the race.

   What really cracked me up was the face of this lady that I kept passing. She was never close enough to actually see me exit the course, yet each time I stopped to spew she’d pass by. Then I’d get back on the road and catch up to her again. She was absolutely bewildered watching me disappear around the corner in front of her, and then a few minutes later pass her again, and again, and again. Poor lady must have thought the miles were going to her head...

Sleeping Beauty

My sister can be quite a deep sleeper, so I got creative yesterday during her Sunday nap. You should have heard the scream when she finally woke up and saw her reflection in the bathroom mirror--she had no idea anything had happened! That's what brothers are for, right?

(Yep, that is a Moses doll, and yes, it does say "I love cows" on her forehead. Boo-yah.)

No waiting on this waiter

     I have always wanted to be a waiter. Restaurants are one of my favorite places because you deal with delicious food and making people happy. What could be better than that? So this summer, I decided to make my dreams come true. My good friend Chet served a church mission in Italy, and has been working at a little Mom-and-Pop Italian restaurant for several years now, so he was able to get me a job with him at "La Dolce Vita". The only thing is, the owners and kitchen staff don’t speak English. They communicate almost entirely in Italian or Spanish, so my on-the-job training was...virtually non-existent. I had a few minutes of quick instruction from Chet (which was very helpful) but then the customers began pouring in by the hoards. Apparently it was Prom night, and things were about to get crazy. Since Chet spoke English, I figured I’d just follow him for the evening to learn the ropes. However, when the entire place filled up with hungry high schoolers, the waiters became so frantic they asked me to take a few tables. I'm not shy, so I agreed to the adventure.
      To my credit, I did pretty well for having virtually no experience and only a few minutes of training; however, when I started getting peppered with questions about the menu, I knew I was in trouble. "What dessert options do you have? Can I substitute this for that? What's your recommendation?" I chuckled to myself and thought Hmm, great questions. I have no idea... One of the ladies asked me if she could have white sauce on her Cannelloni. The cani-what? Is that an entree, drink, or a dessert? I assured her that we could put white sauce on just about anything. [After employing my Spanglish skills in the kitchen, it turned out I was right. Whew!] Once my orders were ready, I faced another predicament. There were trays and trays of pasta piling up in the waiters area, each smothered with sauce and sprinkled with cheese. Crud! I don't know which plate is which? They all just look like pasta to me! The kitchen staff was yelling for me to take my food to the customers, so I grabbed the trays and did the only thing I could think of. I picked up one of the dishes and asked the first guy at the table if this looked like what he ordered. He stared at the plate and said "beats me?" So I asked the next guy, and—by process of elimination—everyone got fed. I may have switched a few orders and possibly misguided a customer or two, but I was having a blast! That's what happens when you ask a brand-new waiter in a completely Italian restaurant to take tables one hour into their first day...

Oh, I brought those

Just got back from a party a few of my friends were hosting. It was great--they provided the entertainment, decorations, and I assumed most of the food.The homemade salsa and drinks were incredible, but when I took a few bites of a powdery-looking cookie, my tastebuds quickly revolted. They were stale, dry, and crumbled all over when you tried to eat them. Worst cookies ever! The girl standing next to me asked about them, so I leaned in close and quietly whispered "they're not that great, I don't recommend them." She sort of smiled halfway and said, "oh, I brought those..."

Camel farm

I love all of my grandparents, but when I was growing up it was Grandma and Grandpa Smith that I really wanted to visit because they lived on a farm. There was so much space to run around, and their animals were quite exotic to a city-raised kid like myself--especially the horses that my cousins and I would ride for hours. I've decided that when I grow up I want to be the type of grandpa that my family is excited to visit. I did a study abroad at the BYU Jerusalem center a few summers ago, and one of the highlights of my trip was getting to ride a camel along the banks of the Nile in Egypt. I can't explain why, but these bizarre creatures absolutely fascinated me, and on my way back to the states I had an epiphany that (in my mind) is pure genius: I am going to own a camel farm. Forget the horses, what kind of youngster wouldn't want to ride an eight-foot woolley pachyderm around the neighborhood for a few hours? "Hey kids, who wants to go see Grandpa Spencer?"  Why, everyone does of course!

Random restroom renegade

Ugh, gender differences... The Richards Building is the hub for fitness, sports, and dance events on campus. That being said, it's loaded with gymnasiums, racquetball courts, swimming pools, recital halls, and all sorts of restrooms to accommodate the variety of demands these activities impose. I've spent my fair share of time in and around this building, but the second story dance wing still remained somewhat of a mystery to me. That is, until last week. There was a formal event taking place in one of the auditoriums, and (as always seems to happen) there was a mad-dash to the restrooms during intermission. As I mentioned, I don’t know this section of the building very well, but I know there were restrooms somewhere down the hall. My mind is wandering as I make my way through the masses of people. At this rate, there is going to be a killer line I think to myself, so I decide to go a little further in search of another restroom. After a short walk, I see the familiar gender-designating sign on the doorway that several girls have just entered, so naturally I walk a few more steps and enter the next restroom. As soon as I turn the corner, I’m taken aback by the absence of any urinals. Hmm that’s strange... Oh crud! Suddenly it clicks, and I realize I'm not in the Men's restroom.
       No big deal, right? I’m sure many guys have accidentally gone into the wrong bathroom. Well, things were about to get even more interesting. As soon as I recognize my mistake, I hear several voices behind me and the door starts to open. You know how in emergency situations time seems to freeze, and your mind works a billion miles an hour? This was one of those times. In a split-second, I realize several girls are about to walk around the corner and find a man standing in the middle of their bathroom, looking like a deer in the headlights. Awkward all around. So I make a beeline for the corner stall. I’ll just wait until they leave, that way no one will even know I was here... It seemed like a good idea to me, but apparently bathrooms are the estrogen-socializing capitol of the world. For crying out loud, these girls were chatting-it-up right outside my stall for several minutes! Then all of a sudden it went dead-quiet. Wait, what’s going on? Is this a normal part of the female bathroom experience, or should I be panicking? Apparently one of them had seen the bottom of my dress slacks and size 12 shoes under the stall door, and after a flurry of not-so-quiet whispers, they sounded the girl-alarm and rushed out of the room. What do I do now? I raise my feet off the ground and rest them against the wall in attempt to hide my man-legs until I can determine if the coast is clear. Just when I decide to make a dash for it, the bathroom door swings opens again and a deep, booming voice asks “is somebody in here?” Great. I can’t believe this is actually happening. The girls had grabbed the janitor, who was determined to flush me out, pun intended. Of course he didn’t believe my story, and geez, did I ever get an earful as he escorted me out the door and past the three chatty-Kathies who were now giving me the look-of-death. It was a whole new level of awkward. I don’t know whose bright idea it was to put two womens restrooms right next to each other, but I guarantee they’d reconsider if they had to spend 20 minutes trapped in the corner stall…

Its a fashion statement

Half-way through my Pathophysiology class today the girl sitting behind me leaned over and asked me if I knew that my polo shirt was on inside-out. I thought it was a joke until I looked down and noticed the stitching on my sleeves were clearly outside. I told her I was making a fashion statement...then I busted up laughing because I actually had no idea that I'd gone the entire morning with my shirt inside-out. Good thing the tag on my back made it obvious to everyone else.

They dont teach manners in Medical School

[Not the actual Dr P. Just
a stock photo I found
on the interwebs]

Job shadowing at the hospital is essential for medical school applications because it gives us pre-med students a chance to really experience healthcare firsthand. But some learning experiences are more painful than others… Doctor P was an intelligent woman who probably didn't mean to come off as rude, but social interactions were definitely not her strong point. As I followed her through her rounds, I asked a question here and there—just like I usually do with the doctors I'm shadowing. Most of them love imparting their vast stores of medical knowledge to easily impressed pre-med students who'll believe anything they say. But apparently Dr. P is not “most doctors.” I asked her about some of the treatments, diseases, and terminology that she had used on one of her patients, and after a minute, she turned to me and said "you know Spencer, I'll just give you my medical dictionary so you don't have to keep asking what some people would consider to be stupid questions."  (Very awkward pause) Wait seriously, did you really just say that? I spent the rest of the morning chuckling quietly to myself in disbelief; and what made it even better was that we still had 2 more hours of shadowing to go! I decided to save the rest of my questions for a doctor who actually cares…

Grandpas favorite cookie

With all of the family that constantly visit, my grandparents always keep their pantry stocked with goodies. Oreos are a favorite of both young and old alike, including my Grandpa Smith. He was recently fitted with dentures, and much to his dismay, he was also told that he needed to cut down on his sugar intake.  With close supervision from Grandma he seemed to be adjusting quite well; however, one night my grandparents retired to bed and I decided to grab some snacks and finish the movie I was watching.  The lights were all out except for the sporadic flickering of the television when I reached into the pantry and grabbed a handful of Oreos. I popped one in my mouth and immediately recognized that something was amiss. I ate another one, and sure enough, they seemed “dry.” I flipped on the light and began to inspect the cookies. Much to my surprise, there was no cream filling!  My grandpa was unable to crunch the Oreos without his teeth, so he would pull the cookies apart, suck off the cream, and stick the chocolate halves back in the pantry to keep Grandma from knowing! I wonder if he ever considered what would happen when the grandkids came over?

Kayak to the kisser

Kayaking is now officially one of my favorite activities in the entire world, even though the learning curve was pretty steep. I was taking an Outdoor Recreation class and all fourteen of us were figuring this out together.  After several minutes of maneuvering without any problems, the wind picked up and things began to get interesting.  I leaned hard to the right, hoping to compensate for my sudden instability as a wall of water caught me from behind and plunged me headlong into the wake. The frigid waves engulfed me, and I thrust myself—gasping—to the surface. As soon as my head emerged, I began to make my way towards the capsized vessel when I heard a sudden shriek from behind me: "Watch out!" I spun around to see another unruly kayaker barreling towards me, only a couple feet away. This girl had seen me tip and whipped her boat around to try and help.  The only thing is, she didn’t really know how to steer and the tip of her kayak torpedo-ed me right in the kisser.  My jaw took the brunt of the impact and the boat slid over top of me, forcing my head back under the surf.  It hurt to chew for next few days, but have you ever seen a goose egg on the side of someone’s face?  That was awesome.

Hmm, no one told me I was getting married?

     Tuesday is my busy day. It’s a continual rush from one place to another so I never really have time to use my cell phone, which usually just sits in my coat pocket on silent. This particular week, in between one of my classes I checked my phone and saw that I'd missed 3 calls from mom. Kinda weird, but my class was starting and I didn't have time to call her back just yet. Right after class ended, I got my phone back out and to my surprise, I had thirteen more missed calls from various members of my family! I began to worry that something was wrong, so I quickly checked my voicemails. My little sister didn’t leave any details, but just told me to call her back ASAP, so I did and hurriedly asked if everything was alright. Her response bewildered me: "No, everything is NOT alright. You are engaged and didn't even tell us!"  It took a second for these words to register in my mind. Uh... what? Did you just say what I think you said? I was dumbfounded. "What are you talking about?" She assured me that she wasn't going to fall for any of my cover-up stories and that I had better fess up and tell the family about this girl that I was going to marry.  Naturally my mind is racing, and I'm trying desperately to come up with anything that would have given her this idea. After trying to convince her for several minutes that I really don’t know what she is talking about, she asks me if I know Wendy Peppercorn (name changed to protect the innocent). I replied "Oh yeah, we were friends from freshman year. I think she just got back from a mission in Hong Kong; but how do you know her?"

     My cousin Nicole was also serving a mission in the Hong Kong, and I had told her to keep an eye out for my old friend Wendy. Sure enough, they ran into each other and soon became good friends. I had written Wendy a letter or two while she was still abroad, and my cousin thought that we must have feelings for each other. When she got home a few months later, she tells a bunch of her mission friends that she is engaged to a boy named Spencer from her freshman year. Naturally my cousin assumes this is me, when in actuality it was my freshman roommate who also happened to be named Spencer! (Crazy, right?) So my cousin sends out an email saying: "family, you're never going to believe this, one of my old mission friends just got engaged to our cousin Spencer!" She sends the message to 29 members of our extended family--but ironically I did not get the email and had no idea until my little sister called me up demanding to know everything. Naturally this created quite a stir amidst my relatives and I got several calls that night congratulating me, chewing me out, or asking for more details about my fiancée. It was a big hilarious mess, but to top it all off, I never even got invited to the real wedding?

The happiest people ever

Spit-shine gone wrong

Its not very often that I polish my dress shoes, but I decided they were looking pretty drab recently so I dug the black polish out from the depths of my junk drawer. The stupid container said to "shake well" and then squeeze to apply the polish.  Well I shook that sucker up and then squoze and squoze and squoze to no avail. I must have triedat least 948 times and nothing came out—that is until the 949th time when the joke was one me and a stream of inky-blackness shot out all over our brand-new carpet. Go figure.

Don't stop, cop

When my brother and I were in high school, we attended early morning seminary at our local church from 6-7am (yeah like I said, “early”). Afterwards we’d usually have about 20 minutes to get to school before classes started. One morning we were thus in route when my brother Jeremy (who was driving) stopped at a traffic light and a police vehicle pulled up right behind us. Jer glanced in his rearview mirror and said “hey look, there’s a cop behind me. I’d better not do anything stupid.” So naturally I thought he was pulling my leg when he started inching forward a few seconds later. The green arrow had just come on for the left turn lane, but our light was still very much red. Jer saw the movement of the vehicles beside us, and hit the gas. We cruised right on through the intersection before I realized he wasn’t joking and he realized what had just happened. We were immediately pulled over, and even the police officer couldn’t hide her amusement when she asked "too early for you?"

Pins these days

After six semesters as a teaching assistant in the human anatomy lab, I sometimes forget that other people aren't as comfortable openly discussing bodily topics. At church a few weeks ago one of the guys sitting across the isle from me had a lapel pin on his jacket that caught my eye. I have quite a few lapel pins from my 2 years of service as a missionary, but I had never seen one that looked quite like this. Nah, it couldn't be. But that is a very distinctive shape...So after the meeting I approached him to get a better look. From my seat, I could see an upside-down triangle and a slight curl originating from each of the top corners. Without even thinking about it, I blurt out "hey Mike, I've gotta ask you about your lapel pin? I know there's no way you would ever wear this on your suit jacket, but from where I was sitting it looks exactly like a uterus." His jaw dropped and he just stared at me for a moment before replying that it was actually a shield with a couple feathers coming off the top. (Ooops. Gimme a break, I'm a physiology major...) The girl next to me was absolutely dying of laughter while several others just stood there awkwardly, still in disbelief. I guess next time I'll think before I ask someone if they're wearing anatomical structures as part of my Sunday attire.

Shew fly, dont bother me

I've heard of finding a fly in your soup, but what a surprise to find a perfectly preserved/flattened-fly inside the tag for my new suitcase! After buying a new set of luggage, I returned home and unfolded the tri-fold tag to check out some of its features--and what did I find? Insect guts smeared all the way across the page. What blew my mind was how perfectly preserved the fly was. Every piece was accounted for, and none of the pieces were peeling off. I could see each segment of its body, the lacy network of veins on both wings, and even the individual hairs covering its thorax. Upon careful examination, I discovered that the fly was actually inside the plastic laminate layer! It must have flown into the suitcase factory and landed on the tag as it was being laminated. I guess the conveyor belt was moving so quickly that it was squashed (very precisely) before it could even attempt an escape. Bizarre?

Music of the...gourd?

When I enrolled in the “Music of Afghanistan” class at college (because why not?) our professor, Lloyd, handed each of us a bizarre instrument on the first day and told us to “figure it out.” No music or instructions, he just played the song on his instrument and we were supposed to pick out our parts on whatever was in front of us. The instruments range from a drum, a small recorder, a horizontal harp, a 5 foot long violin, and a hollow gourd turned into a sort of ‘banjo,’ which is what I play. I did a Google search and found out that it’s called the Tanbur. Never heard of it? Join the club. Oh, and I forgot to mention that we weren't allowed to take our instruments home because they were "irreplaceable." You think we're going to be able to play these songs, really? After a couple months in the class our teacher told us that we would be playing our final concert in front of 1,000 people at the BYU Hunger Banquet. The funny thing is that none of us could play the songs except the professor, his wife, and the TA. We ran through our program in a dress-rehearsal and Lloyd told us that we were "just about good enough for them to throw up on. But don't worry," he said "I'll bring the barf bags..." He was probably half-kidding? But we students played it off like pros: I mastered the first song, and then during the next two pieces, I rocked-out by just repeating the first song over again and mouthing different words. So did the other guys. It was all for the sake of the audience, seriously. Thank goodness their music is supposed to sound dissonant! Can you believe we all got A's in the class?