Chris Larsen's Writing Portfolio

Originally posted March 2018.

I would love to tell you that any successes I’ve had in my life have been born of  hard work, determination, and good-old-fashioned stick-to-itiveness. But more than I’d like to admit, I’ve just gotten lucky. Growing up, it often seemed that things just fell into place in the most fortuitous ways for me. But more than once, my father would remark “Damn, he lives a charmed life.”

This is the story of how I depleted most of my “charmed life” reserves in one weekend.

Our tale begins long ago, in the fall of 2006. It was my freshman year at the University of Florida, and life was good. I had made a lot of friends, I was doing well in my classes, and most importantly, our football team was very, very good. I’m proud to say that I was on that field every gameday, playing my heart out… on the saxophone. As a member of Gator Band (or, as our announcer put it before every performance, “the Priiiiiiiiiiiiiiide of the Sunshine, the University of Florida FIGHTIN’ GATOR MARCHIIIIING BAAAAAAAAND”), my fall was devoted to being a full-time supporter of the Gator football team, and I loved every minute of it. There’s nothing in the world like marching out of the tunnel for pregame in front of 90,000+ screaming fans, playing a few notes, and feeling—actually, physically feeling—the sound of those fans shouting “GO GATORS!” in response. And as I mentioned, that year there was a lot to cheer about. As the season wound down, the team had suffered only one loss and was bound for the Southeastern Conference Championship Game in Atlanta. The possibility of making it into the BCS National Championship Game in Arizona was very real. And as a member of the marching band, I got to be right there in the middle of it all. Life was good.

In the week leading up to the SEC Championship, which was held the first weekend of December, I had quite a bit to do. Finals were fast approaching. Classes were winding down, the marching band was recording a CD, and on top of that, my band uniform was at the dry cleaner. That might not sound like a big deal, but trust me, this was about to become very important.

Around 9:00 that Thursday morning, I was working on a short extra credit paper for my astronomy class. Class began at 10:40. Yes, I’d put this off until the morning of class, but it wasn’t THAT challenging of a paper (only a few paragraphs summing up an article, as I recall). But I ran into a problem that fateful morning: my printer wasn’t working. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong. I started to panic. What could I do?

Before I go on, I want to stress something: this was 2006. The computer I was using was my first laptop, and technology has advanced significantly since then. For a lot of the problems I’m about to describe, the solutions seem obvious in hindsight. But in the same way that most movie plots from the 1980s would be solved in minutes with cell phones, I was limited by the primitive technology of the day (and also my tired brain not thinking of some other obvious solutions, but we’re gonna mostly blame the tech, OK?).

My roommate was a nuclear engineering student named Josh, who was legitimately one of the nicest people I have ever met, the sort of person who would drop everything he was doing to help a friend in need. I explained my plight to him, and we agreed on what seemed like the perfect solution: he would leave his UFL email account open (he was about to leave for class), I would email him the paper as an attachment when I was finished, and then print it from his computer. What could go wrong?

Well, for starters, his email could automatically log out due to inactivity.

I was stumped. There was no solution in sight. I mean, it’s not like I could have logged into my OWN email account on HIS computer, right? (It took me an embarrassingly long time to think of this solution. As in, the amount of time is measurable in years.) So I frantically began knocking on every door on my floor. Fortunately, one of my across-the-hall neighbors was home, playing World of Warcraft. He offered an elegant solution: he had something called a “flash drive,” which I could store my paper on, then print from his computer. (I knew right then I had to get me one of those.) Thanking him for saving my life, I printed the paper and rushed to get to class. The problem now was the time: class began in just a few minutes, and was halfway across campus from my dorm. There was no way I’d make it in time. And then, as if in answer to a prayer I hadn’t even had time to articulate, a bus pulled up, headed exactly where I needed to go.

Damn, he lives a charmed life.

Long story short, I made it to class on time, turned in my paper, and all was well. But boy, was I hungry. So I made my way to the dining hall for some lunch. While eating, I discovered my newest problem: I didn’t have my keys. I had no way to get into my dorm. I panicked again. Had I dropped them somewhere? I retraced my steps, but no luck. I realized that I must have left them in my room in my rush to get to class. I raced to the front desk of my dormitory, signed out a spare key, ran upstairs, and of course, found my keys sitting on my desk.

Well, at this point, I was emotionally exhausted, so I did what any self-respecting college freshman would do: I took a nap. This would have been fine, if my plan for the day hadn’t included using this time between classes to go pick up my band uniform from the dry cleaners. But in the moment, recovering from my frantic morning seemed more important.

That afternoon, I had a couple more classes, along with a recording session in the football stadium for the marching band’s CD (this isn’t relevant, really, but I just wanted to brag). By the time we were finished, the dry cleaners was closed for the day. This was fine, though. I’d checked, and the dry cleaners opened at 7:00 the next morning. I had to be at the music building by 7:30, and buses left at 8 for Atlanta. All I had to do was get up early, grab all my things, walk across campus, have breakfast at the McDonald’s across the street from the dry cleaners, pick up my uniform, head to the music building, and get on the bus. It all made sense. That night, I packed my bags, laid out my clothes for the next morning, set my alarm, and went to bed.

My alarm system was foolproof. In order to ensure that I got up, I set my alarm across the room, so I’d actually have to physically get out of bed to turn it off. That would wake me up! And it did. The alarm started beeping, I got up, shut it off… turned around, and got back in bed.

The next thing I remember is hearing Josh take a deep breath in his sleep, one of those peaceful, contented ones that signals that everything is right with the world in that moment. It woke me up. I looked at the clock.

8:03.

I jumped out of bed and started loudly combining four-letter words and their variations in ways I had never considered before. Josh bolted up. “Chris! What’s wrong?!”

“I OVERSLEPT AND I MISSED THE BUS AND I’M GONNA MISS THE SEC CHAMPIONSHIP GAME BECAUSE I’M AN IDIOT” I babbled out (with a few other words thrown in that I’m choosing to leave out at this time).

“It’s OK!” Josh tried to console me, though I couldn’t imagine how it could possibly be OK.

I turned on my phone and was immediately bombarded with texts and voicemails, each wondering where I was. At that moment, my phone began to ring.

“Where are you?” said the voice of one of my fellow sax players in my ear. I repeated my babblings from earlier. “Well, hurry up, boy!” she urged. “We haven’t left yet!”

Damn, he lives a charmed life.

My hysteria immediately turned into calm determination. “Josh,” I said. “They haven’t left. Will you help me get there?”

“Of course!” he replied, because I think he might be a literal saint. He picked up half of my belongings, I grabbed the rest, and we began running across campus.

Now, the University of Florida campus is… large. And my dorm was on the exact opposite corner of campus from the music building. We had about as far to go as you could possibly have. But Josh and I were determined. Every time I began panting about how I wasn’t going to make it, Josh reassured me. “We’re gonna get you there, Chris!”

That’s when I realized: my uniform was still at the cleaner. What could I do? My mind raced to come up with a plan of action. Suddenly, it came to me. Josh was going to be leaving for Atlanta the next day.

“Josh,” I said. ” Could you get me my uniform and get it to me in Atlanta?”

“I’ll do what I can!” he replied. I handed him my band card, which would allow him to pick up the uniform for free. Things were falling into place. And somehow, against all odds, I walked onto the bus while they were taking roll, to thunderous applause from my fellow sax players.

Damn, he lives a charmed life.

(As a side note, as the bus started moving, we realized that another sax player had missed the bus entirely. He ended up joining us at a red light. I thanked him for making me look comparatively responsible.)

The ride to Atlanta was long. My parents checked in on me, and I of course told them everything was fine. Meanwhile, I was panicking internally. I kept calling Josh to see how Operation Help Out Your Irresponsible Roommate was going, and every time, it sounded a bit more grim. He was looking for someone who could get it there on time for me, as he was going to be getting there closer to the actual game, which would not have worked out in my favor. It wasn’t going well. That evening, we had a practice at a high school in Marietta, just outside Atlanta. As I dutifully marched through the drill, I thought to myself, Soak it in. This is the last time you’ll ever play with the Gator Band.

When we got back on the bus, I had a message from Josh. He’d found somebody! A friend of a friend was with the ROTC, who would be participating in the pregame show. She had agreed to bring the uniform along, and had my number to get in touch with me when she made it to Georgia. For the first time all day, I breathed a sigh of relief.

Damn, he lives a charmed life.

That night, we had a great time out on the town. We got in good-natured battles with Arkansas fans, trying to drown out their “WOOOOOO PIG SOOIE” hog call with our own cheers. We shouted “Go Gators!” at every passing Florida fan. At the hotel, I even played Guitar Hero for the first time ever (an unimportant detail that nevertheless sticks out in my mind). It was great!

The next morning, I still hadn’t heard from the girl with my uniform. On the bus to the Georgia Dome for morning rehearsal, I got her number from Josh and gave her a call. She answered after one ring and immediately said, “Hi, I have it, I’m at the Georgia Dome.” Perfect! She said she’d call me to coordinate meeting up.

We got to the Georgia Dome and went in for practice. I saw the ROTCs of both schools practicing their part of pregame on the field. It’s on the premises, I thought to myself. It’s all working out.

As we took the field, I began to wonder: at this point, how could we coordinate our meeting? That’s when I felt it: my phone was buzzing in my pocket. Oh no. She was calling me, and I was in the middle of rehearsal. I had no way to answer. I began panicking again. What would I do?

That’s when a series of small miracles happened.

First, we finished pregame, and instead of going right into halftime, the band director called us all together. Then, instead of having us gather at the 50-yard line, as was the custom, he had us gather around the goalpost in the endzone. And that’s when I heard it: a female voice muttering to someone behind me, “Chris Larsen?” followed by a rustling of plastic. I turned around and saw a young woman in army fatigues striding towards the tunnel in the endzone, and a very confused sax player holding my uniform in his hands. “I’ll take that,” I said quickly, and put it with my instrument case.

Damn, he lives a charmed life.

The rest of the trip went relatively smoothly. I had my uniform, was able to march, and to my knowledge, the band directors were none the wiser. (Side note to follow up on the previous side note: the other sax player who was late? He had to give up his uniform to one of the drummers, for reasons I can’t quite recall, and he sat in the stands in a Gator Band polo shirt.) The Gators won, and the next day found out that yes, they WOULD be playing for the national championship (which they also won). When the time came for that trip, I had a foolproof plan to prevent oversleeping: I stayed up all night and instead slept on the plane ride to Phoenix.

Oh, and when I got back to Gainesville? I found out that the reason my printer wasn’t working—the cause of this whole misadventure—was because it wasn’t plugged into my laptop.

Always check your connections, folks.