That Doesn’t Sound Like Los Angeles At All!

It was early in our day in the Boston Museum of Science. My peers and I from my Brown Summer Program were given free rein to explore the museum as we wished.  Somehow I ended up in a group that included a red-haired girl, and a guy who kept apologizing for literally everything. If I had known about Doctor Who at that point, I probably would have compared the two to Amy Pond and Rory Williams.  

*Cue new internet windows to figure out who those two are.

“Stop apologizing, Russell.”, the girl said.


“He just apologizes for everything. It’s kinda grating.” she said to me.

We turned left and the group just decided to travel up the escalators to the top floor, and begin exploring. We passed a computer screen that said “Super Small Nanoparticles” and detailed about carbon nanotubes. Isn’t putting the phrase “Super Small” before a word with the prefix nano- redundantly redunant?

Walking up to the second escalator and passing the Mathematica exhibit, we decided to pause on the second floor. We looked around at a bunch of mirrors, and other stuff, and then decided to head up to the third floor. And on the way through the optical illusions exhibit is when I learned two things about the girl, she was from Los Angeles, and she loved to mess with people.

“Isn’t Los Angeles dangerous?” Russell asked.

“No. It’s actually quite safe. The people are really nice. As a matter of fact, it’s kinda like those places with bunny rabbits, flowers, etc.” the girl was saying, and in retrospect, from the look on her face, this was routine. She had said to every guy who had talked to her before, and she was going to continue to do so.

I, being completely adept socially, just as she almost convinced Russell to the point of not return butted in with:

“Wait a minute, that doesn’t sound like Los Angeles at all!”

I’m not quite sure what Russell’s reaction was. All I got was a face-full of glaring from the girl, similar to the reaction someone gets when their combo gets interrupted in a video game. It was similar (not quite the same) to the same look I received when I interrupted guys hitting on girls at my school. It was the same look  I got when a girl in my grade was hacked off at me for not eating out of her hand like every other single guy in the vicinity.

“Darn. I almost had him convinced.”

I shrugged, unaware that I had just become acquainted with the defining person of my days at the Brown Summer Program.  We continued throughout the museum for the rest of the day, passing models of highways, the evolution of humanity shown with model skulls, models of sailing ships and the obligatory dinosaur exhibit.


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