Miss Phlaglefriendly

Phyloblast? Phaoblaster? Phlalaloblast? How exactly do you pronounce this?

Better question: what IS a Phlagleblast?

I did not realize this question would haunt me when I was driving to school. I did not know I would care that this eleventh annual homecoming event was complete with prizes, scavenger hunts and caricatures. Or that a guy dressed in a lion’s mane had planned the whole festival.

I was focused on school. My day usually starts out with a quick tromp from the parking structure to the bathrooms in the University Union, a break for after my commute and before class. I rarely have time to stop and enjoy the food or the people watching or the colorful decorations.

Wait, decorations?

When I waltzed through the union on Monday I had a rare gift: time. I took a long moment to stand right inside the door and stare up at a hanging monkey, trying to figure out what was going on. It was an hour till my next class. My computer had died earlier in the day leaving me with a cell phone, a pen and intense hunger.

Lucky for me, Phlagleblast is a synonym for free food.

I managed to make a few equally excited friends in line for free Round Table Pizza. None of us could figure out why the food was free (and slightly expected a charge of some type, even if it was just taking a short quiz or filling out a survey), but we were grateful not to spend money on Panda Express or Burger King.

The truth is students are usually poor. The truth is most students are always hungry. The truth is people bond over free stuff.

Sac State’s genius way to unite a commuter with strangers in a school of 20,000 students was working.

My first friends I met in line for pizza. We all kept asking each other, “Is this free? Are you sure it’s free? Did you ask if it was free?”

I will never see any of those people again, but I took some phone numbers and had pleasant conversations and adventures, including asking for a second slice of free pizza and being denied by the stingy food donor.

I felt like I was back in preschool; colorful animals and hanging vines and lots of food and balloons, not to mention friendly people standing and laughing while taking bites of thin slices of thick crusts.

According to a large sign, there was going to be more free food offered every half hour. Muscle milk was next, so I decided to explore other attractions more suited to my interest and body type.

A mister Brian Rodgers was more than pleased to help me out.

The unsigned musician was jamming with his bass, a few avid fans standing in front of him. I decided to boost his audience total to a grand three.

This was probably the best decision of my day. I had another bonding experience with the music of the acoustic funk rock singer and guitar player. I think I stood there making random appreciative eye contact with fellow audience members for over 20 minutes, almost contributing to how late I was to my next class.

Then I discovered balloons.

I have a fascination with balloons. They are happy and youthful and innocent. I met another friend in the balloon line. She tied my balloon to her wrist since I could not take it to my class.

After I passed the monkeys and food and music and people running around getting stamps and free junk, I realized that this pointless and hard-to-pronounce event was made for people like me: the commuter with no time, rarely stopping and really just needing an excuse to relax, eat and listen to some music.

Oh, and make friends. Jennifer still texts me about my blue balloon she tied to her wrist.







(If you would like to re-create my moment of musical bliss, check out Brian Rogers at: http://www.myspacecom/brianrogersmusic .)