Missed Connections - May 25, 2007
With graduation freshly behind me, I figured high school hadn't been so bad. With relatively little effort on my part, I had managed to graduate with several awards, including the departmental scholarships for math and science. All of my teachers had offered to write me letters of recommendation, and, rare as it might be, I was feeling good about myself. Tired, yet spiritually satisfied, I walked to the kitchen to make myself some breakfast.
Not even the sight of Rachel, sitting at the kitchen counter, doodling pictures on her arm, could bring me down. As usual, I ignored her. Grabbing a bowl, some cereal, and a gallon of milk, I prepared for my meal. Out the window, a sunny June sky promised longer days and brighter horizons. Without thinking about it, I began to smile.
Bent around her forearm with the posture of a toad, Rachel said, "Someone called for you, while you were sleeping." In annoyance, I grunted at her disturbance.
"Was it the call I heard just a few minutes ago? I wasn't sleeping." It was typical that she hadn't even thought to check.
"Yeah. It was some guy named Osh Kosh Begosh or something."
I rolled my eyes. Rachel never took my messages properly. "That's a brand of shoe. I don't know anyone with a name like that."
"Anyway, I told him you were asleep. He said he wouldn't be able to call back since he was having a graduation at his college. I didn't know you were hanging out with college guys, loser." Likely, she just hadn't wanted to check to see if I was awake as it might distract her from whatever she was drawing on her arm.
Pouring milk into my cereal bowl, I bit my tongue in contemplation. Usually, dropped messages didn't concern me, but for some reason this one tugged at my mind. I didn't know anyone in college, let alone anyone whose name sounded like Osh Kosh Begosh. Flakes of Life cereal submerged under waves of white milk as I continued my internal search. A revelation came over me so powerfully that I had to stop pouring for fear of spilling everywhere.
"Wait...are you sure it was a kid?" I was panting. My heart was hammering inside of my ribcage. It couldn't be true. No way.
"He sounded kind of old, I guess." I felt lightheaded.
Blinking as though I had been punched and was trying to regain my composure, I asked, "Did he say Dr. Osh Kosh Begosh?"
Rachel nodded noncommittally.
I gasped. I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. "Holy shit!" I could barely stand. I grabbed hold of the counter for support.
Aberdeen has been the spawning ground of much strangeness. A thousand degenerates and murderers have sprung from it, redeemed by few geniuses. It was in Aberdeen that Kurt Cobain first conceived of Nirvana and began his path to international musical stardom. Yet years before Cobain, there had been a genius that only a few people seemed to recall. His very existence had shown me that there was a life outside of Aberdeen, if only I could escape to it. He was one of my heroes. The science department at Aberdeen high school had given me a scholarship named in his honor. It was only later I would find out that he had been calling to congratulate me. Douglas D. Osheroff. Dr. Douglas D. Osheroff, winner of the 1996 Nobel Prize in Physics.
Rachel had hung up on a Nobel Laureate.
A Nobel Laureate who had wanted to speak to me.
I felt half-crazed, with the enormity of it, the way ancient peoples must have felt upon witnessing an eclipse. For a moment, an entirely separate level of reality had converged upon mine, and through no real fault of my own, I had missed it. I began to speak random strings of nonsense words, sprinkling such phrases "super-cooled," "studied super-fluidity in Helium!" as well as an occasional "you whore!" for good measure.
Rachel snorted at me, and continued to doodle on her arm. "I still don't see what the big deal is." My raving had not penetrated the caveman-like thickness of her skull.
All at once, I roared, "The man won THE NOBEL PRIZE! And he wanted to speak to ME!" I quivered with indignant rage.
Pausing for a moment from her doodles, Rachel look up, completely puzzled at my anger. "What the fuck is the Nobel Prize?"
I never got to speak to Dr. Osheroff. Ever.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, I just stepped back in front of my computer, and apparently about five people sent him a link to this story. I'll be away most of the weekend, but I just wrote to him to apologize for the extra mail in his inbox. Thank you guys for trying to help me out like this, though I can't say I wouldn't have been happier had I died knowing that at no point had I ever made a Nobel Laureate read the word "Fuck." Still, thank you all for trying to help me out like this. It was very nice of you.
Posted by BC Woods at 12:00 AM
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Comments
.... Somehow this is the saddest post you've made.
.... I think, if you killed her based on this single incident, no jury would EVER convict you. Seriously. Go for it.
Posted by: Jason at May 25, 2007 12:55 AM
Wow...your sister is pretty dumb man.
Posted by: doctornine at May 25, 2007 01:00 AM
maybe he'll read this site eh?
BC: It is my great hope that Nobel Laureates spent their time doing better things than reading DDHM. No offense to you all.
Posted by: Matt at May 25, 2007 01:20 AM
Reading stories that relate to your sister give me less hope for humanity and their intelligence.
Posted by: Darryl at May 25, 2007 02:48 AM
BC, I think its time you start a web site, something like www.mysisterrachelisawhore.com and see what happens. I would subscribe to that site. Even if she is a tabacco-chewin-beer-guzzling-sperm-dumpster from Aberdeen, it would still be rewarding.
~Putter
Posted by: Putter at May 25, 2007 03:55 AM
Hims thinks he better than us since hims write storys on the enternets.
Posted by: Skeeter at May 25, 2007 08:53 AM
BC, Why don't you call him yourself and thank him for the scholarship? His telephone number is listed on his homepage on Stanford.
http://www.stanford.edu/dept/physics/people/faculty/osheroff_douglas.html
When I was younger, I actually called Harper Lee of To Kill a Mockingbird fame (in the early 90's before the internet had caught on).
BC: I understand what you're saying, but I don't like to waste the time of important people. It's just not something I can feel good about doing.
Posted by: Dan at May 25, 2007 09:01 AM
Don't be a pussy, BC.
Posted by: BigChops at May 25, 2007 09:58 AM
I would have kicked that bitch in the funny flaps.
Posted by: amber at May 25, 2007 10:00 AM
The man was "wasting time" by calling you personally. I think in this case courtesy dictated a return phone call.
....too late now though
BC: A bunch of you guys e-mailed him. I just wrote him a letter of apology for it.
Posted by: Anonymous at May 25, 2007 01:25 PM
Isn't Aberdeen also home to the dude who died while making sweet sweet love to a horse?
BC: You'd be thinking of Enumclaw
Posted by: gabe at May 25, 2007 01:42 PM
Damn you for being such a good person
Posted by: Barry at May 25, 2007 01:55 PM
BC, if you call him, just say you are returning his call, from 4 or so years ago. He'll understand once you explain that your sister is a sub humanoid, cunt monster.
P.S. I know you've had countless offers to kill her, but seriously, take one of the people up on it. You may even get a freebie once they read this story. You'll be doing our entire species a great service.
Posted by: Fatal Error at May 25, 2007 02:21 PM
"Rachel had hung up on a Nobel Laureate."
I don't know why but that line just makes me laugh.
Posted by: Eric at May 25, 2007 03:57 PM
Quiet! do you hear that? that is the sound of a billion braincells crying out in anguish because the one sperm that succeeded in making it up the birth canal hung up on a Nobel Laureate instead of ending up in a tissue where it belonged.
Posted by: Xavier at May 25, 2007 09:53 PM
He called you BC, despite the fact that he never had the oppertunity to speak to you. Even though it may be years later, I'm sure it would mean much to him if you called and thanked him. What is the worst that could happen? Him scream and yell at you for picking up the phone and dialing his number that he has listed, I highly doubt that.
You could even tell him what you're doing with you life now, or what your studying (I don't know what you're doing currently). In a since I think he'd be proud deep down to know that you became something.
Posted by: Ninja at May 25, 2007 11:21 PM
An email to the Dr. certainly wouldn't hurt. Besides, you might kick yourself if he died tomorrow and you never took the chance :P
Posted by: Jeffy at May 26, 2007 02:31 AM
Dear god hes not that important you can be better than him you retard just look at yourself he is just a man given a title just think about it jeez out of all the people I thought you would know that by now.
Goddammit you should have known better, instead of freaking out like that
BC: I right crass occasionally funny stories. This man cracks the secrets of the universe. I believe I have kept things in their proper perspective.
Posted by: dmoe at May 26, 2007 05:40 PM
Andrew, dude, this is a person that is very busy and that accomplishes big things, but it is also a person. I have found that a lot of the extremely important and successful people out there thrive in every aspect of life, having simple, enjoyable social experiences included. You have him conceptualized as this one dimensional research-producing machine, but that is extremely unlikely. He would probably be thrilled to waste 5 minutes of his day talking to you, and if you think rationally for a minute you will probably realize that.
BC: We're currently exchanging e-mails. Still.. made him read the "F Word." That's pretty bizarre.
Posted by: Former Roommate Kevin at May 28, 2007 05:40 AM
"BC: I right crass occasionally funny stories. This man cracks the secrets of the universe. I believe I have kept things in their proper perspective." I'm sure reading "right" instead of "write" would be even worse.
BC: Aploogies fro the tpyo. Smoetimse I gte tried.
Posted by: Sod at May 29, 2007 07:11 PM
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