Things were good to this point. You bought food off your meal card like it was an endless fountain of money. Twelve dollars for pasta and garlic bread didn’t seem out of the ordinary (little did you know you’d be out of money by Christmas). If you lived in a residence with no A/C, you woke up on a pillow stained with your own sweat and drool. School was a distant thought at this point. You started to get an inkling of how you’d get along with your roommate.
Things were progressing as they should.
It was around midnight.
My roommate Brian and I were sitting adjacent to what would soon be known as “The Field of Dreams”. Derek then joined us.
We sat there for a while trying to figure out what to do, or where to go. After some deliberation we were stumped. However, the answer soon came in the form of five dollar medium pizzas from Gino’s.
Then, as me, Derek, and Brian were about to leave, a figure stumbled out of the large bushes to our right.
I’m just going to call him Drunk Mike. Drunk Mike was tall, gangly, and had braces. He looked like an overgrown tenth grader. He was sporting a t-shirt and pajama pants, and flip flops. Also he was drunk, hence the name.
Drunk Mike wanted to go to get pizza with us, and who were we to be unwelcoming? I mean, it was fucking Welcome Week, everyone was your friend!
So off we set on what should have been a ten minute walk to get pizza with Drunk Mike.
Drunk Mike said some horrid, awful things. Racist, incredibly sexist, and at times sexually explicit things. You might’ve found them humorous, you probably wouldn’t have. I think the only humour comes from the absurdity of the things he said to complete strangers without feeling awkward at all…I’m guessing because he was drunk. Very, very, drunk.
Anyways.
“Man there’s one thing I really want in life,” said Drunk Mike, starting his first conversation with us, “I want to get blown while you know, taking a dump.”
If you can believe it, it all went downhill from here.
“What are they called?” He continued, “blompins, blookins…blumpkin! That’s what I want, I need to find some chick dirty enough to do that to me.”
What a first impression.
We continued down University Blvd., or whatever the fuck that main road from the student centre to the hospital is called, pretty much without incident… or at least Drunk Mike hadn’t said something revolting enough to remember.
That was until some large men asked us for cigarettes. We politely said no (“we” being: Derek, Brian, and I ). In the meantime Mike had started jawing with a group of angry looking guys across the street. We stopped him for fear of our own safety. He then protested, saying that he could outrun any of them.
I’m not saying he couldn’t, he was very lanky and rather fast looking, but still, we weren’t about to let him be the reason for us getting beaten up while he runs away unscathed.
So we hustled along to Gino’s without further incident.
We got the pizza, and started our walk back. Drunk Mike of course, did not pay any attention to traffic, and sort of hustled across the street, with no care for the oncoming traffic.
As we were walking back, Drunk Mike steered the conversation topic towards Drunk Mike’s sex life.
Obviously we didn’t want to hear about this, but he went on.
Drunk Mike’s sex life consisted of this one girl at a party apparently. Unfortunately, he couldn’t stop going on about it. He then went on about how he wouldn’t have sex with members of a certain race, but then rescinded that by saying one of the most offensive things I’ve ever heard.
I’ll go on the record with my belief that this one girl at a party did not exist, and that Drunk Mike would probably take anything he could get.
That’s all I want to say about that.
Drunk Mike soon tired of his pizza. He had two slices. I would’ve taken it, but he wandered away from us into a rather sketchy dark corner. There were some people there, and he was going to give his pizza to them.
Five minutes later, we were still waiting for him. This was an abnormally long time to give away a pizza, but in a moment we were going to find out why. Instead of giving away his pizza, he came back with a dealer’s number written on the box. This was not surprising.
By this time our residence was close, and it was approximately three a.m. . Drunk Mike headed off to his residence, and us to ours.
This would not be the last we saw of Drunk Mike. Not by a longshot. He’d wave to us in Commons, and any other time we saw him. This was uncomfortable. And there was one more encounter at Gino’s, which would eclipse this one in its scope of awkwardness and offensiveness.
Me, Brian, and Derek returned to my room. From my window, we saw some angry guys turning over garbage cans and kicking things.
“YOU MISSED ONE,” yelled Brian.
“YOU WANT TO FUCKING GO?” Yelled one of the drunk angry guys.
It was a fitting end to another night during Frosh Week.
