Turn off the sausage

Looking at this title, you must be wondering what in the world could this blog be about, but don’t worry, I won’t make you wait long to find out. This past weekend I had the opportunity to travel to Washington, D.C., the city of gleaming marble steps and our nation’s proud capital. In the wee hours of the morning on Saturday night, I was laying in my bed with my oh so fluffy pillow in the Holiday Inn Central. It was a nice and an affordable option (only after a little Winters hardball haggling) that was conveniently located four blocks from the White House. As my roommate was sawing some logs, I was processing the events of the day and thinking about what still needed to be done in the morning. Taking a mixed group of 40 international and domestic students to a big city like D.C. is no easy task. I was halfway through my mental checklist for the next day when all of a sudden my roommate stirred and muttered something under his breath.

“Turn off the saus…hahm,” he said.

 Now at first I was startled, but I had to confirm that my friend had said one of the most ridiculous sleep talking remarks I have ever heard in my life.

So, in humoring my zombie-fied friend, I replied “What Steve?”

He perked up, turned over with eye lids half open and said right to my face, “TURN OFF THE SAUSAGE.”

After laughing for a good minute or so, I noticed Steve had returned to his deep slumber. As I laid there on the verge of passing out myself, I thought about the rigors of time management on short trips to big cities and how we became so tired that we were dreaming of the machine like properties of sausage. Okay, hit the rewind button on your old clunky VHS player and let’s go to the previous day.

Getting to D.C. from Pittsburgh is not a bad drive by any means. It is at most a 4 hour drive, maybe 5 if you stop to eat. However, add 4 school vans and one GPS to the picture, already you have quite the journey. As soon as we got to the hotel around 10pm, everyone ran up to their rooms, threw down their bags, and bolted out the front door to hit up the night life. Now I was there at least for another half hour filling out the paperwork and nursing an eye that was irritated from a torn contact. By the time I was finished, me and a couple of stragglers went out to a bar called Buffalo Billiards trying to salvage what was left of our Friday night. 

Now, if you are looking for one of the most chill bars in existence and getting in a couple games of pool at the same time, this is your place. With its single sum payment for an hour of pool, you save time by not having to change a dollar bill every time you want to play a new game or having to search for change under the vending machine. Don’t lie; I know you’ve done that before. Around 1pm I was back at the hotel passed out with my socks on like Dad on the first night of vacation after driving the family ten hours to the beach. Not Easy.