What Happens in Tempe, Stays in Tempe

I went to Tempe the day before classes started this semester. I fully expected to be astonished, angered and attacked at various points of the day. For those of you who don’t know Tempe, here’s an example of what goes on there: On the first day I spent in Tempe, in March 2009, I saw a woman lying on the ground, crying because she had been hit by a bus. A group of people gathered around her, pointed at her and laughed. Then I went to Hooter’s.

My recent experiences are equally violent, and slightly more bizarre. This time, while I was on my way to the ASU campus, I heard a shout from across the street. I looked and saw one man run towards another man and pretend to dramatically punch him in the face. Figuring they were old friends joking around, I continued towards campus. A few seconds later I heard another shout, looked across the street, and saw one man walking away and another tending to a bleeding nose. They were not old friends.

Later in the day, my friends and I went to a local Whataburger. It is impossible to say “Whataburger,” so we called it “Water Burger,” but that’s not the interesting part.

As we left Water Burger, a college-aged male stuck his head out of the passenger-side window of a moving car and shouted, “You look very intelligent, sir!” He probably had less than five seconds to think of something to tell me, and he decided to comment on my smart looks. I was flattered, yet afraid. Maybe it was just my glasses, but maybe we really had something.

As we boarded the light rail back to Phoenix, an obese man saw us looking for seats and, in order to keep us from sitting next to him, lay down across three seats. The man’s stomach popped out from under his shirt and was fully exposed. I was shocked that this man, who was completely spherical, did not involuntarily roll off the seats, but I managed to stay composed and walk away without staring for too long.

We found seats next to a young man who was talking loudly to himself about not having enough money. Halfway to Phoenix, the rotund man stood up from his numerous seats and began dancing, but only with his upper body. His legs barely moved, but his shoulders and arms shrugged and waved rhythmically. Soon afterwards, the young man stopped talking to himself and staggered away to another part of the light rail car.

I don’t know what to make of these events. God may have been trying to tell me something, but if that’s the case, God has a disturbing sense of humor.