To waste some time, I unpacked. I am pretty proud of my packing, actually. Not that being able to squeeze one month's worth of stuff in 48 pounds is something to brag about, but I'll take what I can get. I saw bags twice that size being hauled up the staircases by volunteer students, which made me feel a little better about the guy who had to carry mine. At least the only way it has to go now is down.
So the unpacking didn't take long. I didn't get the private bathroom I was supposed to be rewarded for signing up early, but at least I was in England. Except I was all alone. It was getting old very quickly. I decided to read my book for at least 20 minutes to give the welcome people time to get my packet to the Porter's Lodge. When that time was up, I was dangerously close to falling asleep and thus ruining y campaign for quick and easy time change adjustment, so I headed out to scavenge up some lunch.
High street still struck me with how urban it is. I don't know why  was expecting a sleepier Oxford. Not wanting to get lost, I stuck to one side of the street and found a sandwich shop. The odd thing is that now, a month later, I still haven't noticed again. It's like it just appeared for that one day. Not that I'd want to find it again: the chicken sandwich was barely palatable and I soon found out that it was also overcharged. But 'tis the nature of first days.
The accent of the man behind the counter caught me off guard. I was prepared for a British accent, but his was Dutch or Russian or something. I tried not to be embarrassed to ask him to repeat himself. I also learned a new thing: salads. He asked me is I wanted any salads, which meant lettuce, spinach, et cetera for the sandwich. I thought he was trying to up sell me.
I took my pathetic little chiken sandwich on wonderbread toast back to my room. And, all right! I admit it! I took a nap. But in the end I adjusted just fine, thankyouverymuch.