Bath University

Before our perfunctory tour of Bath we are scheduled to meet as a group for lunch at Bath University. Getting off the bus I see no sign of Mark. I see no sign of the girl with the Armadillo pins. I see no sign of the Italian girls. I see no sign of Eziekial lBosh-Midden which even if I did  my cohort who lives all of thirty miles from my parents’ abode still would not acknowledge me.

For the second day in a row I am wearing my Young Columbus jacket. I have conformed.

Vivian tells us more about the University stating that it is unlikely that we will very many students and stuff since they, quite like yourself, are on holiday.

Jim Baker snorts, saying the word holiday, mocking Vivian, asking her what the fuck she thinks this is, Christmas or something.

My glasses are off and in my side pocket like some sort of wounded bird in a James Harriet novel. In my myopia it is a swirl of red. We are escorted through the University into a giant cafeteria like building. Someone in our group yells out big ten and makes a comment about the NO FOWL sign we passed in downtown Bath. The lady who is a different tour guide affiliated with the University begins to tell us about class size and concentration and when the university was founded. No one seems to be paying attention.

The crowd continues to body surf in the room. No sight of Mark. Ibid Amarillo girl or the Italian twins.

Inside the dining hallI sit down at the long table, the Big Ten is still requested to sit together for now.  Everyone is calling me Harry and then making late-seventies sashaying 'Stayin' Alive' finger pointing  motions when talking about the pending dance-slash-disco.  There are talks about the Italian girls and just how hot they are. Spencer notes that we have been here all of two days and this is the third time we’ve had beef and potatoes. At the end of the meal I ask for a cup of coffee. The lady tells me sorry, all they have is tea. Tea and soda.  I tell her that I am fine, lying.

As is customary Liz Madigan at the end of every meal served en group Liz Madigan steps up to a microphone always beginning by asking with our first full day out into the British countryside what everyone thought it would be. She tells us that we have a full day ahead of us with visiting Bath abbey and touring the Roman Baths. 

She says that tonight there will be a Disco close to the hotel.  She reminds us that tomorrow afternoon is our first of three scheduled meeting with Dignitaries whereas we are scheduled to meet the Lord Mayor of Stratford so that. after we finish our morning tour of Warwick Castle we need to change into our Young Columbus duds, which for you boys, means ties.

I don’t know if your counselors have told you yet but we always try to get a group shot every Young Columbus. We’ve found a place outside so that after we eat follow your counselors to the selected location on the quad.  

As we walk out to said location there is man rock climbing against the wall. The big ten starts snapping pictures agreeing that a British lad scaling the side of a wall a la cliffhanger fashion is the coolest thing they have seen so far on this trip.

We are told by the emcee of the group that outside is an opportune place for the group photograph, the group continues in exodus walking out into the commons of Bath University, the grassy atoll below the building that looks slightly reminiscent of a used air-conditioned window unit left on the curb awaiting custodial pickup.

It seems to take forever for us to line up. The talented New York photographer is swaying his arms in orchestral tempo. There are several steps on the grassy atoll, the quad of Bath university. It looks like an abandoned fountain that has been grassed over with vegetation.

            “The thing we need here is to make sure that everyone’s face is visible in the photograph.” He continues to marshal us into different vectors of the steps. He slices his hands like an upsidedown-vee, indicating that he wishes half of one side to slant a certain direction and the other half to vie a different direction. It is almost as if he is trying to choreograph a choir loft on a geographical plateau for a summer solstice celebration.

There are about 150 of us altogether. For reasons inexplicable dual-decades later the tour guides are asked to step to the side and encourage us to smile when the photographer snaps the picture.

He squints into the snout of his 800 dollar Nikkon and tells us not to blink, waving his hand towards the upper row, telling people to make sure they remain slanted into towards the center so that everyone’s visage is visible in the incumbent group photograph.

After two dozen clicks the affluent New York photographer makes the suggestion that all the college counselors should get together for a group photograph.   

The counselors are laughing. They are flirting. They are trying to form a pyramid with their limbs. They are toppling. It seems hard to believe, as everyone in the Big Ten is saying that the counselors en masse went out and got hammered last night.

There is always the sound in the background of women snapping the last roll of their film and the film automatically rewinding in a backwards sneeze.

There is laughter. Someone says Big Ten give it up. Bath awaits us.

It is near.