While I was at the campus bookstore today, I became part of an interesting situation regarding ethics. Let me explain.

As I was browsing the bargain table, I noticed a box underneath with several Velcro straps designed to hold your right pant leg so it won't get caught in your bike gears and get chewed up. As this has already happened to me, I decided I needed one. So I grabbed one and went off to make my purchases.

After waiting five minutes in line, I arrived at the cash register. My books rang up fine, but when the checker got to my so-called "sport strap," she had a confused look on her face.

"Is this yours?"

Assuming she meant that I may have dropped it on the counter, I said, "No." But realizing she might have thinking someone else left it, I added, "Not yet, at least."

So she then went to look up the price in their little laminated book of bar codes. But alas, it wasn't there. She then had to ask her boss what to do. The conclusion was to take the band over to the supplies check out stand and ask them.

When she returned, she announced that they didn't know they had it either.

Pause.

This thing is obviously not in their inventory. Nobody would miss it if I just took it. But that's just not the point.

Unpause.

"Somebody probably lost it, so I can't just give it to you. You can take it over to Lost and Found and see what they say."

Someone did not lose it. My retort: "How about I just go back there, pick up another one, put it in my pocket, and walk away?"

Now this surprised her. It was clear they were intended for selling, but nobody had any record of the bookstore owning this product. So what's to stop me from just taking it? The fact that I did the good thing and told them about it.

The story goes on for quite some time. They decide they can't just let me take it and decide to make up a price. But first she has to go try and find the others for a code. She does eventually, then rings everything up. But I noticed the code was for a 7 pack and I was obviously not buying 7. So she had to calculate 7.95/7 (I guessed $1.15; it was $1.14), redo my order, then finally letting me on my way.

My point is that after half an hour standing at the cash register, I still had to pay some arbitrary amount for the stupid thing they didn't even know they had. It was a pure waste of my time, and aside from a couple apologies, they gave me nothing. I had to sit there enduring the whole thing.

The time spent was not a big issue to me personally, as I rarely do anything useful in my free time anyway. But I had to stand there the entire time, watching the line get longer and longer, knowing full well that I was taking up more than one checking stand, as the checkers had to confer between each other. I know how aggravating waiting in lines is, so this bothered me more than anything else.

Now what if I had simply put the strap in my pocket? They had no record or idea it was theirs, so I couldn't be caught for stealing. I could have even claimed it was mine when she first asked about it. But I was being a good person and in the end had to pay, both in the sense of money and time.

So now the question of ethics comes into play. What was the right thing to do?

I am not William Hung. I don't look, act, or sound like William Hung. So why do all these retards keep on instant messaging me thinking that I am said person?

It started off one average day, when I received a message from an unknown sender.

"PackersMan12345: hello," he said.

I replied, "engrish: quien es?"

And then came the astounding, "PackersMan12345: awe u wiwiam hung"

Wow. Well, I guess I wasn't that surprised, since maybe a retard would think that William Hung would be stupid enough to have such an awesome screen name. So I replied:

engrish: who are you?
PackersMan12345: who awe u
PackersMan12345: awe u wiwiam hung
engrish: you first
PackersMan12345: say or ill hack u
PackersMan12345: in
PackersMan12345: 5
PackersMan12345: 4
PackersMan12345: 3
PackersMan12345 signed off at 6:35:13 PM.

Amazingly enough, he decided to sign off right as I blocked him. But the saga continues.

Soon, more and more random people start instant messaging me. Many are short:

PuNkBeEyAtCh2461: HI
engrish: who are you?
PuNkBeEyAtCh2461: oops sry rong sn
PuNkBeEyAtCh2461: bi

forgiveTHEidgit: hey shelby, this date is gonna be fun!
engrish: ?
forgiveTHEidgit: sorry
forgiveTHEidgit: wrong screen name

BlueRaider0: yo fool
engrish: who is this?
BlueRaider0: oh, oops, I must have the wrong SN
BlueRaider0: is this, uhhh, Kirby?
engrish: no
BlueRaider0: hah, wow - my bad
BlueRaider0: sorry man

Most are annoying:

Chronic2387: hello
engrish: who is this?
Chronic2387: whos this
engrish: nope, you first
Chronic2387: your mom
engrish: well then
engrish: i'll be going...
Chronic2387: mom will be going
engrish: goodbye
Chronic2387: your mom goodbye

HOOkemHorNZnuM1: hi
HOOkemHorNZnuM1: r u from american i dol
engrish: wow
engrish: would you people leave me alone?
HOOkemHorNZnuM1: y
engrish: it's annoying
HOOkemHorNZnuM1: ur a jerk
HOOkemHorNZnuM1: no wonder y they picked u
HOOkemHorNZnuM1: wait but r u from american idol
HOOkemHorNZnuM1: yes or no question
engrish: just leave me alone
HOOkemHorNZnuM1: well r u
HOOkemHorNZnuM1: after u anwser all stop
engrish: just go away
HOOkemHorNZnuM1: ru and then i will
engrish: goodbye

And the list continues. Because I'm not very willing to give away any personal information, I have received many death threats. Because I'm apparently William Hung, I have received many compliments and insults on my singing ability as well as many offerings of young girls' bodies.

Soon after this flood of instant messages, I began to realize there must be some connection between them all. And I found my answer when someone kindly revealed the website that brought me so much fame:

www.tizzletalk.com

Now, I'm not advertising that you visit this site, as it's the entire reason why I am so bitter online. But if you do go there, you'll notice that it's an add-on program to AOL Instant Messenger that "translates" your text into a variety of made-up dialects, including "redneck," "ebonics," and of course, "engrish." With each of these different dialects is an accompanying picture, and the one for engrish just happens to be William Hung. Now the thing that gets me is that people really believe that not only William Hung's screen name is on that site, but also Jessica Simpson's, Arnold Schwarzenegger's, and George W. Bush's.

As time progressed, about half of the people thought that I was the translator itself, and instead of downloading a program, they would send their message for me to translate. Those people were usually the ones shocked that I would respond. But the other half thought that I was William Hung himself.

The conversations continue and get more and more detailed, vulgar, and annoying, but there is no time for all of them. As of right now, I have received over 50 instant messages from unknown people regarding this. It's gotten a little out of hand. So my word of advice to you is that if you want to talk to me online, please first state a greeting, promptly followed by your name and relation to me. Otherwise it won't be long before I block you.

I hate how society has molded our taste buds to accept the flavor "mint" to mean "clean." The most common toothpaste, mouthwash, and chewing gum flavors are a variety of mint. They even make mint toothpicks for that little edge on picking plaque out of your teeth.

Now obviously, the mint flavoring is not cleaning your teeth. That would be the job of the other ingredients, the reason you buy the products. But because it's so common, I feel weakened in my daily life, associating minty things with a clean mouth.

Take breath mints, for example. It's essentially candy. But whenever I have one, mentally I feel like it's a legitimate substitute for brushing my teeth when in fact, I probably need to brush my teeth more.

And on that idea, the stronger the mint flavor, the cleaner your mouth must be. When you chew on an Altoids, your body can't think of anything but the burn in your mouth. The more hidden other flavors are, the cleaner your mouth must be.

This was all spurred by a little pole of Andes chocolates I found on my desk, presumably put there by Tony. I've learned that they're extremely addicting. They're bite sized and delicious. But the worst part is that they have a layer of minty goodness. After eating a handful, I came very close to hopping in bed, feeling clean. Oh how deceptive they are.

I can't believe I wrote this. I must be the son of a dentist or something.

I can't stand people who cry excessively in public.

This feeling was brought up when we received our Calculus midterms and the curve was announced. Stupid questions girl got hers, and by the time I was back from picking up mine, she was in tears saying something along the lines of, "Why do I even try?" Alongside her was her good friend Stupid Questions Boy, who despite having a girlfriend of his own, still wants her badly. This stirred up the slow back rub/pat along with words of encouragement.

Now, when I see people crying, I automatically turn my head away. But why is this? Crying is a personal event that really shouldn't be done publicly. However, in times of deepest sorrow, it's acceptable to shed tears in the presence of others.

Math midterms are not times of deepest sorrow.

Honestly. Life goes on. Why bother crying over a grade? The only thing you'll get from me is a slap in the face. Wake up, little girl. Calculus may be important, but your grade is not. Get a life.

How true those words are. If such a person is that emotional towards a test, chances are he/she really doesn't have a life. Hence, getting one would be in order.

Alas, after class today, she was angry that she missed the professor because she wanted to talk to him about an error he made in the grading of her test. On one page, she clearly received 5 points, but at the bottom, the total was 4. Out of 100 points, it's not worth the trouble. But no, she went to his office hours to sort this thing out.

Clearly, this is the same girl that wept tears upon her exam.

I was eating at the DC the other day, by myself, as usual. Across the table and one seat over was an employee taking his dinner break. We pretty much had the same food on our plates: eggs, a pancake, bacon, among others. The theme that night was "Breakfast for Dinner," apparently. As I was reading a column in The California Aggie, my peace was interrupted by his voice.

"I can't believe you pay $7 for this."

Then came a confused look on my face, at first assuming he was crazy for working at the DC, so talking to himself would not be out of the question. But it turns out he was looking at me with an expression desiring a return comment. He continued:

"You know the reason they're serving breakfast food. They had too much and needed to get rid of it."

To which I replied:
"Yeah, we can tell the food is recycled throughout the week."

He went on:
"I can barely eat this stuff and it's free. I can't understand why you pay $7 a meal for this. For that much money, you really should be getting high quality food."

Interesting. I never thought about that. I knew we're paying a lot more than the $2 they give back per swipe, and $7 seems like a reasonably large rip-off quantity. That's about how much you have to pay to eat there. But they attach the DC bill as a rider to the Student Housing bill, so you never know exactly how much you're paying.

But the line that really got me:
"Don't tell anyone, but in the back, we have a serious rat problem."

Somehow, my pancakes and eggs remained untouched.