Three things remain: A cell phone, a key card on a lanyard, and a brown, leather wallet.
Blood Donor Card
I try to do good for the world. I give away my A+ness to save up to three lives. I wish I could donate my life force everyday, but I am told I would run dry. I never really miss the plasma or platelets when they are gone. They regrow, even though for a time I might get less oxygen to my body and suffer with a weakened immune system. That is the price one must pay for prolonging the life of another. I also suffer bruises every now and then from incompetant nurses; don't tell them I said that.
Key Card
This little ID, encased in a transparent plastic holder, is the all-in-one instrument for a college student. This contraption allows access into buildings which outsiders don't have the privelige of having. Furthermore, some students aren't allowed into every building at all times with their card, but I am told that certain positions around here have more access allowances, like Resident Assistants, of which I am going to be next year. This chunk of polymer is also the ticket to an all-you-can-eat bufffet in the commons; one swipe and you are on your way to college-food-bliss. Some of my friends complain of this disadvantage, and wish instead for a McDonald's on campus. The greatest advantage of all of having this card is the barcode sticker that was added to the back by a librarian. This number gives one the ability to take home any book one wants from our honorable library; sadly, I have never even tried to use this feature.
Credit Card
Visa is dear to me because it allows me to spend money online. I would not be able to spoil myself with a personal website or Puma shoes if it were not for this special piece of plastic, encrusted with my name. The 16 digits, plus CSV and expiration, allow me to fling my money away into the world. At times, these units of value are handed to charities through online portals, such as people's personal Relay for Life Team pages.
I have gone through three cell phones just this year, and not because of any lack of care on my part. The first monster was a solid wedge that could not be folded, slid, flipped, turned or do any other of those fancy new cell phone actions. This barbarian was of the tracfone family, so I had to constantly add units in order to talk or text. The screen was only in black and white if I recall correctly. Finally, I received an upgrade from my family because a new tracfone would use .3 units per text instead of .5, like that old beast. With the new Tracfone, I was able to hold my own in the style world. It flipped. It had a color screen and it was just not affordable. Even though I bought a plan were the minutes I added to it were doubled, the massive amount of texting I typed was too much for this piece of technology. Relenting, my family finally jumped on the Sprint Family plan bandwagon. Now my mom, sister, and I can all enjoy unlimited texting. YEAH! Showing I am even more spoiled, my family 'had' to upgrade to a data plan because the new phone my sister wanted needed a data plan to work. I can now surf the internet from anywhere. I feel like a real cyborg.
Driver's License
The idea of driving struck fear into my heart ever since the age of sixteen. I was not like the other kids who wanted freedom to run away from their families; I was quite content buckling down and staying put on the living room couch. My parents wanted me to have the skill of driving, so I took a drivers' education class. After watching gruesome driving accident movies, and reading about boring driving regulations, I finished the classroom portion, and was supposed to be thrust into the next portion of the program, which is driving with an instructor. I would have no part in that. I did the prerequisite work of driving around with the advisement of my parents, every moment of which was anxious-agony. Time passed, and I was eighteen, and no longer need to take the behind-the-wheel option. I could go right to the DMV and out on the road to pass my test, which I did, thank God. I don't think I would ever take that test again if I had a choice. My heart was in my throat the entire time, and I was sure that my brain had left my body. I had quite a few points taken off, not a nice action for them to do against my perfectionism. Oh, well. Now I can drive, but that doesn't mean I will drive. So there!
Blood Donor Card
I try to do good for the world. I give away my A+ness to save up to three lives. I wish I could donate my life force everyday, but I am told I would run dry. I never really miss the plasma or platelets when they are gone. They regrow, even though for a time I might get less oxygen to my body and suffer with a weakened immune system. That is the price one must pay for prolonging the life of another. I also suffer bruises every now and then from incompetant nurses; don't tell them I said that.
Key Card
This little ID, encased in a transparent plastic holder, is the all-in-one instrument for a college student. This contraption allows access into buildings which outsiders don't have the privelige of having. Furthermore, some students aren't allowed into every building at all times with their card, but I am told that certain positions around here have more access allowances, like Resident Assistants, of which I am going to be next year. This chunk of polymer is also the ticket to an all-you-can-eat bufffet in the commons; one swipe and you are on your way to college-food-bliss. Some of my friends complain of this disadvantage, and wish instead for a McDonald's on campus. The greatest advantage of all of having this card is the barcode sticker that was added to the back by a librarian. This number gives one the ability to take home any book one wants from our honorable library; sadly, I have never even tried to use this feature.
Credit Card
Visa is dear to me because it allows me to spend money online. I would not be able to spoil myself with a personal website or Puma shoes if it were not for this special piece of plastic, encrusted with my name. The 16 digits, plus CSV and expiration, allow me to fling my money away into the world. At times, these units of value are handed to charities through online portals, such as people's personal Relay for Life Team pages.
I have gone through three cell phones just this year, and not because of any lack of care on my part. The first monster was a solid wedge that could not be folded, slid, flipped, turned or do any other of those fancy new cell phone actions. This barbarian was of the tracfone family, so I had to constantly add units in order to talk or text. The screen was only in black and white if I recall correctly. Finally, I received an upgrade from my family because a new tracfone would use .3 units per text instead of .5, like that old beast. With the new Tracfone, I was able to hold my own in the style world. It flipped. It had a color screen and it was just not affordable. Even though I bought a plan were the minutes I added to it were doubled, the massive amount of texting I typed was too much for this piece of technology. Relenting, my family finally jumped on the Sprint Family plan bandwagon. Now my mom, sister, and I can all enjoy unlimited texting. YEAH! Showing I am even more spoiled, my family 'had' to upgrade to a data plan because the new phone my sister wanted needed a data plan to work. I can now surf the internet from anywhere. I feel like a real cyborg.
Driver's License
The idea of driving struck fear into my heart ever since the age of sixteen. I was not like the other kids who wanted freedom to run away from their families; I was quite content buckling down and staying put on the living room couch. My parents wanted me to have the skill of driving, so I took a drivers' education class. After watching gruesome driving accident movies, and reading about boring driving regulations, I finished the classroom portion, and was supposed to be thrust into the next portion of the program, which is driving with an instructor. I would have no part in that. I did the prerequisite work of driving around with the advisement of my parents, every moment of which was anxious-agony. Time passed, and I was eighteen, and no longer need to take the behind-the-wheel option. I could go right to the DMV and out on the road to pass my test, which I did, thank God. I don't think I would ever take that test again if I had a choice. My heart was in my throat the entire time, and I was sure that my brain had left my body. I had quite a few points taken off, not a nice action for them to do against my perfectionism. Oh, well. Now I can drive, but that doesn't mean I will drive. So there!
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