Ross!

Who would've thought that Ross could almost get us arrested?

Well, I suppose it wasn't Ross' fault. Ross was Scottish. And it was night in Washington DC. And the motorcycle drove by. At least we learned an important lesson for photographers.

I should probably explain what I'm talking about.

First of all, I'll begin with literature class, senior year of high school. Hilarious class, especially since we had Mrs. Neal as a teacher, who is so hard to define that the one word which sums it up is "Cheryl." Possibly "Trevor wake up!" and "Where's Erin?" would work as well, but it's been too long since Mrs. Neal's vocabulary lessons for me to find the right word.

Anyway, back to literature class. We were reading through Macbeth, adding pizzazz to it as we worked our way through (I'll admit, it's one of Shakespeare's best plays, but hey...we were in high school). In Macbeth, there was one character named Ross. Now, when I say Ross, I'm not saying it normally. According to us, the only way to say Ross was in a voice like you were a heavy smoker trying to break his habit by chewing gravel while sitting in a massage chair. Ross. Now you know. Rossss. Rooooss. And so on, repeating this name every time Ross' lines came.

Sorry, Ross, I hope we didn't offend you. We love you at heart. Long live Malcolm.

Jump ahead to the end of the semester. My class, having survived well over a dozen years of formal education, decided to spend our senior trip in Washington, DC. We had a great time, and not only while touring the monuments.

There was the one time I sat on the table in our hotel room and it broke completely in half. The hotel probably eventually found out that they needed stronger tables. I found out that I needed to lose thirty pounds or so...which I have. Can't say if the hotel's changed their tables.

There was the one time where a small Chinese town decided to fly to America and tour DC...and stay in our hotel. They loved the hotel. Especially at breakfast time. They made a game of seeing how many of them could fit in the food hall at once. I had to defend a table for my classmates while they tumbled out of bed and figured out which body part their socks went on. As I defended our table, I could glance to the left and watch a line build up by the waffle maker. Every one of them wanted a waffle—in Asia, waffles must be rare finds. But with no understanding of waffles comes no understanding of waffle makers, so every time a Chinese person tried to make a waffle one of the workers would have to show them how. I can say this from experience: If they were Japanese, they would've invented their own waffle maker right there.

There was the one time where we found the longest escalators this side of Jed Clampett's oil swamp. Two of us raced it up and then down while waiting for the train...fortunately, the race finished just in time that the train didn't leave without our two guys. After the race, they were as exhausted as a truck's tailpipe.

There was the time we conspired to compete with Tiffany & Co. by selling plastic and glass jewelry that looked just like their products.

Hey, if all your jewelry looks glass, you might as well have a rival that sells glass products!

There was the one time Obama cancelled our once-in-a-lifetime White House tour so he could have the Prime Minister of Israel over.

There was the one time the Potomac started flooding over the pathways, leaving dead fish in its wake.

There was the one time where a crazy Jamaican lady talked with the whole train car about pickles and Arnold Schwarzenegger. And the other time involving Matt and about three odd African-American teenage girls. Oh, the people you meet on the subways.

There was the one time we didn't meet Paul Ryan.

There was the one time where Ted and Taylor were asked to pose for a poster by the Washington Monument.

There was the one time I screamed loud enough to wake the dead...in Arlington Cemetery.

There was the one time Ted offered me $12 to catch a pigeon. Mice are one thing, but pigeons...Ew. I'll just stick a used hypodermic needle in my bellybutton instead.

There was the one time we drove a thousand miles on the last tick of the gas meter. Our supervisor, Mrs. Paczocha, was so afraid we might run out of gas that she almost began handing out burritos. Trevor, on the other hand, remained as cool as a bottle of antifreeze as he calculated how many miles our gasoline could take us. "Don't worry, Mrs. P," he would say, "This car holds what, sixteen gallons? And we're on the last tick? We've still got a thousand more miles, at least." I'd have to trust Trevor for that. He builds his own airplanes. However, this fact didn't loosen Mrs. P's grip on either the steering wheel or the paper bag she was breathing into.

By Trevor's calculation, this tank's got enough gas to drive from Chicago to Seattle and back.

There was the one time Ted and Matt stuck their legs out the car windows while riding down the interstate...just because they could.

There was the one time we got lost...wait; that happened a lot.

There was the one time we saw a guy get arrested at the Capitol's tourist center for taking a picture of the entryways, due to national security and the threat that a picture of an incognito doorway could slip into some anti-American hands...which creates a great segue back towards the story of how we were almost arrested.

It was our first day in Washington DC, so most of the above events hadn't happened yet. Busy traffic was on one side; random government buildings were on the other. I looked through a glass door of one of the buildings and took note of a sign inside. Among official-sounding words was planted the name "Ross."

Immediately, I informed my compatriots of the situation. The area echoed with high school boys crowing Ross over and over. Then one of us decided to take a picture, to enshrine this encounter with the famous name. As he raised his camera, though, we very suddenly heard a harsh command to stop. Actually, it wasn't quite like that. It was more like a policeman waddling out of the darkness yelling "STOOOOOOP! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? YOU DIDN'T HEAR ME THE FIRST TIME, SIR?" Actually, no, Mr. Donuts, we couldn't hear you through the overpowering sound of a Harley. And we backwoods Wisconsinites were unaware of the fact that you can't take pictures of private entrances. So yes, try to come out of your aggressive state as you ask if we need any help. And give back the camera, please; thank you for your work. You might want to relax with some yoga back at home, if you can do any poses besides "The Bloated Bullfrog."

Almost two years later, I have kept my slate clean. That was probably the closest any of us had come to an arrest. I will admit, though, I haven't said Ross in a while. Mostly because the only Ross I know could use me as a toothbrush. I mean, I'm all for clean teeth, but my life comes before dentistry.