Thursday, April 8, 2010

Frat House Memories- A Cautionary Fable (Part 1)




*The Ides of March got me. I know I've really been slacking on the blog, so I present to you a special treat: The first chapter of my college memoir. The names haven't been changed to protect the innocent or guilty as of yet, so I apologize in advance for throwing you under the bus. Don't worry though, I'll have all the names changed when I get to the bad parts. Enjoy*

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“I’m sorry, but I forgot. How much is it?” I asked.

There were three of us in the room: The Residence Assistant, My best friend Eric Fox, and myself. I turned around a full three-hundred-sixty degrees to look at every wall of the fraternity house room, although a quarter turn of my head each way would have sufficed. This room was the size of a large gym locker and smelled equally ripe. Eric balanced at the threshold, bobbing his head outside for fresh air multiple times per minute. He wasn’t going to risk dirtying his Cole-Haan shoes on the carpet.

“Two hundred and fifty dollars per month,” he said, audibly and visibly put-out by explaining this to me. “That includes utilities. Who do you know here again?”

“Lieberman. Josh Lieberman.”

“That’s right. You’re Lieber-squats buddy.” He produced a cigarette out of seemingly thin air and put it to his lips. “We usually don’t rent rooms to non-brothers, but Lieb said you were thinking about rushin. Anyway, take your time checkin’ it out. I’ll be in the courtyard when you’re done”

He then pulled a lighter out of his pocket and lit the cigarette right where he was standing. He took a long drag and exhaled, kindly pursing his lips to the right so as not to blow the smoke in my face. He then turned and walked out of the room, rubbing his shoulder across Eric’s midsection as he did so. Eric’s jaw dropped in amazement at the audacity. He turned his head to watch the RA amble over to the far edge of the courtyard, puffing his cigarette the whole way. When Eric brought his gaze back to me the look on his face suggested that he had just been asked to hold a fresh turd.

“Dude!” Eric exclaimed, wafting the smoke from his face. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

I ignored this. I was looking at what was soon to be my room and I was in heaven. The room itself measured 10 feet by 10 feet with a 7 foot ceiling. The front window faced out to the courtyard, and the back window presumably faced out to the parking lot, but the combination of tin foil, magazine covers, and duct tape that secured the window- mounted air conditioner in place made it impossible to see out of. This room was a bit smaller than my room at home which I had been living at since grade school, but I wasn’t going to bring everything with me anyway. This would be just perfect.

The room was adjoined to another room by the bathroom, which the RA had informed me earlier that I would have to share with another student. I had shared a bathroom with my brother growing up. He wasn’t terribly messy, but he was freakishly hairy. Every time I used the bathroom after him there was always new pubic hair waiting for me on the toilet seat, or on the sink, and sometimes even in the medicine cabinet. I couldn’t imagine there being multiple sasquatch roaming the earth, so whoever I would share this bathroom with would be way easier to clean up after than my brother. This was going to be perfect.

I was in my own world pondering all this, but Eric was becoming increasingly harder to ignore. He was pointing out the many layers of paint caked on the walls, the abundance of dead insects on the ground beneath the ceiling mounted halogen lights, the hole in the ceiling that was leaking some substance that was substantially more viscous than water. The shrill hysteria of his voice came up to me slowly, as if I was turning up the volume on a Gilbert Godfried talk show broadcasting live, from hell.

“…and, and I think that’s a shit stain on the carpet! I think its human shit! You wanna move in here? You think you’re gonna get girls back here? I wouldn’t hold a dogfight here man!”

I sighed, long and heavy.

“Well, do you wanna get an apartment with me somewhere else instead?”

Eric sighed back. It was a perfect echo of mine.

“I can’t bro. I can’t afford to move out of my parents place ‘til I’m done with real estate school.”

He said this wearing a full Giorgio Armani suit with matching cufflinks. I didn’t think actual cash flow was his problem, but I didn’t have the energy to waste on his problems when I had large ones of my own, namely, moving out of my parents house before I turned 20.

In retrospect, this wasn’t a problem at all, as many successful people live at home into their mid twenties and save money so that when they finally do move out, it’s into a home of their own and not into a shitty apartment like the one I was looking at currently. At the time however, living at home at 20 was anathema to a social life. At least it was in my mind anyway.

I saw it as a headline in the paper the day of my 20th. “KEN OVERTON, FORMER HIGH SCOOL ATHELETE/PROM KING STILL LIVES WITH PARENTS & ATTENDS COMMUNITY COLLEGE. PELT WITH FECES ON SIGHT.”

I imagined my friends (who also all lived at home) shunning me for newer, cooler friends who had their own apartments. I envisioned the one girl who had been kind enough to allow me to have sex on top of her to vehemently deny that this had ever happened, but mention that she had heard from guys on the baseball team that I had an extremely small penis that twisted impossibly to the right so that it looked upside down at all times. I pictured my beautiful white jeep splotched brown, soiled from top to bottom with projectile fecal matter.

That last item wasn’t destined to happen for years yet. But I digress…

To Be Continued...

2 comments:

  1. Next post...Please...

    "They Day K-Deanz was Awoken by Chupacabra-Garza in Mexico"

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