By now you should be somewhat familiar with my good friend Bad Motorscooter. He's been mentioned a couple of times now, but I figured it is time he got his own personal blog post as I've done for others already.
This is the story of how I met the man...the myth...the legend...Bad Motorscooter!
Our friendship started off as all good ones do: we happened to sit near each other in English 101 (That class produced three people I still call friend). On the first day, our teacher had us form small groups and go through basic ice-breaking discussions to get to know each other.
That's how I learned some basics about Bad Motorscooter. He was born in Idaho, but grew up in South Africa and Scotland. He'd taken some time off from college (Motorscooter is a few years older than me) and chose WSU to resume his studies in neuroscience. His fiancée also attended WSU; in fact she was in the very same class (Temporarily. She soon got an exemption having transferred from another university).
We remained seat neighbors for the rest of the semester, working on a couple of class projects together too. His quick wit and predilection for randomness kept an otherwise mundane class interesting.
For example, our classroom had very tall windows that reached all the way up to the high ceiling. One day our teacher needed the shades pulled down to show us a slide presentation, but one of the them was pulled all the way up and out of anyone's reach. So Bad Motorscooter went and scrunched himself into the windowsill and proceeded to shimmy up to grab the shade and pull it down. He looked like Spider-Man. If Spider-Man didn't wear a costume and was a ginger.
Another story illustrating his randomness is the time Motorscooter visited the campus multicultural center and tried joining the African-American group. Motorscooter explained to me that he was looking for a support group to help adjust to living in Eastern Washington in the good ol' U.S.A. He was raised in South Africa, has ancestry from the region - he didn't see what could go wrong.
They turned him down. It was carefully explained to him how the group is for black Africans/African-Americans, not South African whites. Bad Motorscooter is as white as you can get. He's whiter than Wonder Bread. He's whiter than me even. It was an honest mistake on his part.
It seemed like the good times would come to an end at the end of the semester as gave our final group presentation together and bid farewell to the end of English 101 and the start of Winter Break.
Fate had a different idea in mind, however.
My first class of second semester was GenEd 111 (Basically a history/political science class). As was customary for me (Because I'm a total nerd), I saw in the first few rows. As the back rows quickly filled up, there were still seats available near me when none other than Bad Motorscooter walked in just before the bell rang.
So we became seat neighbors again. Motorscooter wound up relying upon me a lot for this class because his schedule often caused him arrive to class late or forced him to skip it entirely (Tardiness would become a familiar factor with Bad Motorscooter. Just saying, bud. You can't deny it!).
Our friendship finally blossomed outside a classroom during this semester. We made a routine to hangout after class on Wednesdays at Zoe's Coffeehouse - located on the bottom floor of the building that eventually became my home away from home at WSU. It started off as a way to fill him in on what he'd miss from class and to intellectually discuss what we were learning, but quickly became an excuse to find out more about each other.
From there things just spiraled onward. Movie nights became a semi-regular occurrence. He became particularly fond of MST3K when I introduced it to him, and we watched modern cheesy movies such as The Expendables, Daybreakers, and The Green Hornet.
We became fans of the local improv group, Nuthouse - even got pulled onstage one time during a special Halloween show. Improv comedy can be really hit or miss, but Nuthouse pulled off some amazing shows.
Motorscooter and his wife eventually started picking me up for church every Sunday at Simpson UMC.
Just as he roped me into joining "Inspire!," Motorscooter and his wife were strong influences in getting me to join the "Inspire!" Spring Break service trip during my junior year. We worked and played with kids on a reservation in Idaho. I could go on forever about that trip, so I'll save it for a future blog post someday.
(Side note: I'm ashamed to admit I haven't come up with a privacy-saving nickname for Motorscooter's wife yet. I really don't want to just keep referring to her as "His Wife." I'm open to suggestions if you are reading this. I've been considering The Mistress of Divinity, since you just graduated and sounds really badass, but it seems a little wordy. Congrats on that again, by the way! Now back to the blog...)
But most of all we just really enjoyed each others company. My best friends can make me laugh and enjoy myself just by getting together and talking. Motorscooter is a perfect example. He can take any conversational topic and take it to the absurd, which is a personality trait we definitely share.
For example, let me describe the origin of his nickname on this blog. He was giving me a ride one afternoon and playing on the radio was some 80's power ballad neither of us recognized. Every time the chorus came around, the singer would sing about this guy who was "a bad motorscooter." I assume this was the PG radio-friendly version of more obscene phrase, but that choice of wording was so silly we laughed the rest of the drive making "bad motorscooter" jokes.
"That's one bad m..."
"Shut your mouth!"
"What? I'm just talking about motorscooters."
You get the idea. It became a funny little inside joke that I now use as his codename on this blog.
The best thing about Bad Motorscooter, however, is that he was there for me when others weren't.
Junior year was by far my most stressful year of college. Classes were naturally challenging, but Fall semester also included a very unexpected job promotion that led to more stress and Spring semester included something similar to the fallout of the 9th floor.
I'll keep this short. Sophomore year I became part of another large group of friends; similar but different to what happened freshman year. I could talk with them about problems and important things for one thing. Secondly it wasn't a total sausage fest this time around. They were all great fun, really helped make sophomore year my favorite year of college.
Suffice to say there was a falling out junior year. All I know is gradually they started phasing me out of parties and activities and collectively gave me the silent treatment. To this day I don't know why. It was a very painful experience for me, and I'm unsure if I'll ever blog about it entirely.
Yes, I've noticed how this keeps happening to me.
Abandoned and ignored by people I thought were friends, it
was time for Bad Motorscooter and The Mistress of Divinity (MoD for short maybe? I don't know yet) to shine.
I think we saw more of each other in those few months than any other time during our friendship. We hungout almost every weekend and his attendance at "Inspire!" and church increased after it had slacked off earlier in the school year.
I took him to his first ever basketball game, a NIT quarterfinal game in which the Cougs beat Northwestern in overtime.
It was during this time I really got to know MoD more too (Still not sure if it works). We'd certainly been friends before this, but now it felt like it was more or less on the same level as what her husband and I had. To show my appreciation, I surprised her with a gift one day - the first LEGO Harry Potter game. Between that and Super Mario Bros, a lot of my visits with them involved playing the Wii.
I spent a lot of time at their apartment, but never once did I feel like a third wheel. It never felt awkward whether other friends were also there or when it was just the three of us. Their warmth and affection helped me through junior year more than anything else. Which is why it was so sad to say good-bye at the end of that school year.
Bad Motorscooter graduated that year and MoD got accepted into Claremont, so they were moving to Southern California.
Since May 2011, I've only seen the two of them twice. Once when they visited me in San Francisco for a couple days that summer. The second time during another "Inspire!" volunteer trip, this time to Los Angeles. I have not seen them since, and sometimes that breaks my heart a little when I think about it.
Fortunately, Motorscooter and I usually call each other every month or so. Once in a long while he gets on Facebook and comments on something of mine or vice versa. That's how we keep in touch now.
I am notoriously bad at keeping in touch with friends separated by distance, but for Bad Motorscooter I make that extra effort. He was my wingman through most of college, my anchor when the world threatened to pull me down, and remains to this day one of my strongest friends.
He's one bad motorscooter!
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