Circumvention

My sister is doing fine.

What? I didn't know that you had a sister! Does she go to Stanford? Rob, you never tell me anything!

Okay, maybe I'll start a different way. Er-hem:

All my life my circle of friends has effectively been a subset of my only and elder sister's circle of acquaintances. That being the case, I've never had to introduce to anyone the notion that my familial bonds included the sororal. When I arrived at Stanford, I (creature of stubborn habit) persisted in my historical methods and never really bothered to think about the fact that Liz, transferring to Stanford from Tufts University in the same year as my freshman, didn't actually have as wide a sphere as I was wont to take for granted.

Which perhaps explains the peculiar surprise I am met with when I let my friends in on her existence. Most people just don't understand how I can possibly have known them for two and a half years and yet never have let slip that my sister also attends this fine institution.

Well, I do, and she does. She is in her fifth year and does all the normal things that a fifth-year biology-turned-psychology major should. She kitchen manages at Slav Dom, plays tuba in the LSJUMB now and then, and on special and exceedingly rare occasions has minor organs removed before they rupture.

Last Friday was one of those special and rare occasions, and this time the operation du jour was an appendectomy. If you're wondering whether I should be divulging medical information about my sister in so public a forum, then ask her sometime about my involvement with a certain chair. In any case, in she went to the Stanford Hospital and with a goodly touch of the grace of God the procedure came off. My sister is doing fine.

I know this because, loving brother that I am, I was concerned and put aside all of my previous obligations in order to be by her side all of Saturday. Well, all except those for dinner with my roommate at five thirty. Oh, and that lab meeting from two until four. And sleeping until noon and my long lunch and wasting some time online, well, I'd say that I devoted a solid half hour to her. At least. Fraternal hall of fame, here I come.

In retrospect, perhaps it was punishment for this mismanagement of priorities that I unknowingly left the hospital on the opposite side of that which I entered on. As I mentioned, I had a dinner date with Mickey at five thirty at Lag, and I was already going to be considerably late. It was getting dark and I didn't quite recognize my surroundings, but then again that whole area looks the same and it has been my experience that, when on foot, one generally reaches one's destination much faster if one gets one's bearings while in transit. So off I went.

I soon came to a largeish parking structure. Ah hah - my intuition serves me well. I'd passed by this parking structure on my way into the hospital, so Lag would be to my right, almost in a straight line from the far corner of the garage.

With a bit of back-alley maneuvering I made my way to the peculiarly-difficult-to-achieve far side of the parkade. That done, I set off in the direction I calculated to be closest to Lagward. I wasn't too worried about the specific direction, because I knew that I would soon be able to realign myself with the aid of familiar surroundings. On the off chance that I was completely off course, I could quickly correct myself once I caught sight of Hoover Tower.

I think what first tipped me off that my plan was not as sound as first suspected was when I came suddenly upon the intersection of Sand Hill Road and El Camino Real. As it turns out, the Stanford Hospital has two parkades, one on either side of the main building. And, of course, the "far right corner" of structure A leads one in a considerably different direction than the "far right corner" of structure 2.



ETA: 5:45
Yea, verily TA: 6:45

I guess I'll try to be a better brother in the future.


Music of the moment: Death Cab for Cutie. Band from Bellingham. You may have heard of them.

CGR: 0.9