St. Patrick’s Day was dead here in Berkeley. Why? Well, I live in a college town and sometimes it seems that everything around UC Berkeley gets affected by midterms. It’s unfortunate, but businesses are pretty dull here on Sundays.
My roommate has no class on Mondays and all her friends were too tired to hang, so she and I decided to take a light stroll around the block to get our minds off of our work (school, papers, jobs, deadlines, ex’s, partners, laptops). We walked and talked about important topics like why having guilty pleasures (like watching Nashville—omg love that show) are important, and why green beer tastes like wax. After a few blocks of busy discussion we decided to make a right turn onto Dana Street.
Dana Street. It is the land in between Telegraph and Shattuck. It’s not really a “happening” street, but it’s part of this town and we appreciate her because she is our path to Dwight that allows us to move east onto Telegraph’s two way street divider (you’d only understand this if you lived on the South side of Berkeley, but it’s quite nice to have Dana around). Anyways…there was a crescent moon and we felt romantic, so we walked on it.
This is when we entered the other dimension.
My roommate screams “Books!” I look down and to my right and sure enough—there was a box of books between a tree and a trashcan. They were in front of this tacky apartment building. We rummaged through it a little and found a couple of interesting titles but then quickly lost interest when we realized they were mostly Italian math books. So we deserted the free books and went on walking on Dana’s quiet sidewalk.
Ahead of us was a glint of yellow and white objects shimmering under the moonlight. After close inspection, we realize it was a trail of tampons. Some were opened and some were perfectly sealed. Me (a storyteller) and she (an actress) decided to create a scenario for these wayward tampons. We imagined an argument between two girls, one was clearly coming back from the market and decided to shower the other with her new box of tampons. Maybe one of them took a man away from the other, oh clichés! We giggled to ourselves and kept walking.
About five feet from the tampons there was a small mound of of spaghetti with meatballs on the sidewalk. We stood over it for a while and wondered if we had stumbled into the Twilight Zone. “What happened here?” my roommate asked. All I was thinking was the infinite amount of stories that can come of out this observation alone. If you want to write a short story about Dana Street and share it, please send it my way! I will repost it into the blog. I am going to work on one myself.