A Walk of Biblical Proportions
I've been emailing back and forth with a friend of mine from college lately. We're into these long, epic missives about depopulation, popular television, insurance, modern literature, drunken antics, natural disasters and adult bookstores. And that's just been in the last two days.
Obviously, we're very well-rounded.
I asked him what was his all-time favorite stupid college story. He has a number to chose from. I just found out that he met Ms. Nude Indiana at a country western concert in Dayton before his sophomore year and ended up spending a quality evening with her and her friends. That event was actually disqualified because it didn't actually happen on our campus proper. However, there were still a number of stories to consider. Please note the following list, taken directly from his email:
Oh the list, my, my where do I start? I think the S.S. Puppy is a pretty good story, The frisbee fan is humorous, Bad beer night, Around the World, Little 5 x 4, Wall of Shame moments, streaking, 15 minute tirade at empty pizza wagon, followed by 15 minute tirade at a missing Buckland, Sausage walker, couch fire(s), bottle party, wiener copy, ass copy, Bo getting written up three times in a week, riding on the dolphin and sucking the breast of Mother IU, seeing God in a coal pile, hawker drinking, Icehouse kegs, robot Jim-bo, Hendie hang, amnesty box, I have a couple nice Disco-Briscoe stories. All primo, but the most 'Animal House' event still has to be the 'Boston Tea-Party' at Campbell house.....you must admit that was pretty good.
And, yes, the Boston Tea Party was a good one. But I have no idea what the hell the amnesty box is.
Anyway, I got to thinking about my favorite story. The most epic, ridiculous, alcohol-ridden account of stupidity that I have in my arsenal of tales. Those stories are hard to nail down. There were so many...many...stupid nights. I mean, we played "Asshole" three nights a week. I could put down a 12-pack without really thinking too much about it. With tools like that, who could fail to act like an idiot.
Then I remembered. The night I was alone. The night I drank too much Everclear. The night of the Walk of Biblical Proportions.
I'd been to a party. Somewhere off campus. We'd been drinking beer all afternoon out of a bathtub at a hotel somewhere. Rhinelander, maybe? In a green bottle. Somebody was visiting somebody from Chicago, I think. And we got invited to some off-campus house party.
Now, I never drove in town. I didn't get a car until I graduated from college. Therefore, I never paid any attention to where I was going. I'd just get in a car with someone else driving and just assumed I'd reach a destination. I was fairly certain, when we got to the house, that I was somewhere near the law school and that I'd just have to walk east to get to campus when I decided to leave.
They had electric lemonade. Made with Everclear. Why did I go to school in a state that allows the sale of Everclear? I remember my mother telling me that it made some kids at another college go blind. Well, no shit. That stuff is vile. But, mix it with enough lemonade and, in twenty minutes, you don't know that you have hands.
I drank it. I drank a lot of it. This was...freshman year. I didn't know what the hell I was doing. So I just kept drinking. And drinking. And then started getting sicker. And sicker. And really, horribly sick.
It was at that point that I decided that I needed to get home. I'm one of those kinds of people. When I want to get home, I want to be home. Right. Now. There will be no waiting for a cab. There will be no waiting for someone sober. There will be immediate leaving.
So. I left. I don't even remember if I told anyone. If I remember correctly, the guys I was with even went outside to look for me, but I was way gone by that point.
To this day, I have no idea where I went. I honestly thought I was heading back toward campus, but...apparently not. I crawled under split rail fences. I crawled over barbed-wire fences. I peed in someone's yard. I tried to climb into someone's truck. I am so lucky I didn't get shot.
Eventually, I found myself on a stretch of road with a gas station. It wasn't open, but there was a Coke machine and a pay phone. I tried to McGuyver my dollar bill into four quarters to call someone to come pick me up, but then I realized that I wouldn't even be able to tell anyone where the hell to come pick me up, even if I could make the phone call.
At about 4 a.m. a pickup truck stopped. The guy offered me a ride back to campus, which was about 25 minutes away, which gives you an indication of how far astray I'd wandered. When I told him where I needed to go, he squeeked, "Honey, you're headed the wrong way!" then proceeded to tell me some tale of Springer-esque woe involving his sister and her new boyfriend and a trailer in the next county over. Thank God for the kindness of strangers, because that man? Saved me. From arrest, if not humiliation.
The next day. We sat around and surveyed the damage. I'd ripped a hole in my jeans at the crotch, climbing over some barbed wire. I had a bruise the likes of which you've probably never seen. We took pictures of the bruise, it was so incredible. I had managed to scare myself straight.
Well, for a month or so, anyway.
Obviously, we're very well-rounded.
I asked him what was his all-time favorite stupid college story. He has a number to chose from. I just found out that he met Ms. Nude Indiana at a country western concert in Dayton before his sophomore year and ended up spending a quality evening with her and her friends. That event was actually disqualified because it didn't actually happen on our campus proper. However, there were still a number of stories to consider. Please note the following list, taken directly from his email:
Oh the list, my, my where do I start? I think the S.S. Puppy is a pretty good story, The frisbee fan is humorous, Bad beer night, Around the World, Little 5 x 4, Wall of Shame moments, streaking, 15 minute tirade at empty pizza wagon, followed by 15 minute tirade at a missing Buckland, Sausage walker, couch fire(s), bottle party, wiener copy, ass copy, Bo getting written up three times in a week, riding on the dolphin and sucking the breast of Mother IU, seeing God in a coal pile, hawker drinking, Icehouse kegs, robot Jim-bo, Hendie hang, amnesty box, I have a couple nice Disco-Briscoe stories. All primo, but the most 'Animal House' event still has to be the 'Boston Tea-Party' at Campbell house.....you must admit that was pretty good.
And, yes, the Boston Tea Party was a good one. But I have no idea what the hell the amnesty box is.
Anyway, I got to thinking about my favorite story. The most epic, ridiculous, alcohol-ridden account of stupidity that I have in my arsenal of tales. Those stories are hard to nail down. There were so many...many...stupid nights. I mean, we played "Asshole" three nights a week. I could put down a 12-pack without really thinking too much about it. With tools like that, who could fail to act like an idiot.
Then I remembered. The night I was alone. The night I drank too much Everclear. The night of the Walk of Biblical Proportions.
I'd been to a party. Somewhere off campus. We'd been drinking beer all afternoon out of a bathtub at a hotel somewhere. Rhinelander, maybe? In a green bottle. Somebody was visiting somebody from Chicago, I think. And we got invited to some off-campus house party.
Now, I never drove in town. I didn't get a car until I graduated from college. Therefore, I never paid any attention to where I was going. I'd just get in a car with someone else driving and just assumed I'd reach a destination. I was fairly certain, when we got to the house, that I was somewhere near the law school and that I'd just have to walk east to get to campus when I decided to leave.
They had electric lemonade. Made with Everclear. Why did I go to school in a state that allows the sale of Everclear? I remember my mother telling me that it made some kids at another college go blind. Well, no shit. That stuff is vile. But, mix it with enough lemonade and, in twenty minutes, you don't know that you have hands.
I drank it. I drank a lot of it. This was...freshman year. I didn't know what the hell I was doing. So I just kept drinking. And drinking. And then started getting sicker. And sicker. And really, horribly sick.
It was at that point that I decided that I needed to get home. I'm one of those kinds of people. When I want to get home, I want to be home. Right. Now. There will be no waiting for a cab. There will be no waiting for someone sober. There will be immediate leaving.
So. I left. I don't even remember if I told anyone. If I remember correctly, the guys I was with even went outside to look for me, but I was way gone by that point.
To this day, I have no idea where I went. I honestly thought I was heading back toward campus, but...apparently not. I crawled under split rail fences. I crawled over barbed-wire fences. I peed in someone's yard. I tried to climb into someone's truck. I am so lucky I didn't get shot.
Eventually, I found myself on a stretch of road with a gas station. It wasn't open, but there was a Coke machine and a pay phone. I tried to McGuyver my dollar bill into four quarters to call someone to come pick me up, but then I realized that I wouldn't even be able to tell anyone where the hell to come pick me up, even if I could make the phone call.
At about 4 a.m. a pickup truck stopped. The guy offered me a ride back to campus, which was about 25 minutes away, which gives you an indication of how far astray I'd wandered. When I told him where I needed to go, he squeeked, "Honey, you're headed the wrong way!" then proceeded to tell me some tale of Springer-esque woe involving his sister and her new boyfriend and a trailer in the next county over. Thank God for the kindness of strangers, because that man? Saved me. From arrest, if not humiliation.
The next day. We sat around and surveyed the damage. I'd ripped a hole in my jeans at the crotch, climbing over some barbed wire. I had a bruise the likes of which you've probably never seen. We took pictures of the bruise, it was so incredible. I had managed to scare myself straight.
Well, for a month or so, anyway.
posted by Miss Head at
9:15 AM
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