One of the things I love most about college is how people take care of each other, lest someone gets a little carried away at a party. On one such occurrence, boxed Franzia took my fancy a bit too much after an eternity of nothing but Keystone, and I wound up throwing up in the bushes outside a frat, not really knowing what was going on, right beside the security guards, where I kept accidentally deleting my friends' phone numbers instead of calling them. Two girls who lived in my hall who, at the time, I barely knew luckily happened to pass by and drove me back to the dorm, escorted me to my room, and made sure I was safely in bed, all while graciously accepting my slurred apologies. One of them was later fittingly dubbed "mom" for her amazing maternal instincts and care for the rest of the hall. This isn't really the story I wanted to tell..nothing very interesting happened. It was just the drunkest I'd ever been (and will ever be). This one's better:
We were at a frat party (where else?), and one of our friends (let's call him Lyle) was invited into the great beyond, that is, upstairs, where only brothers and those special individuals approved by brothers could go. After some time, most people had left, so my other friend (let's call him Johnny) and I tracked him down to go back home. We found him in a strange state, which resulted in the longest (and the best!) walk home ever. Here's a recount of the events as I remember them:
As we exited the frat house, Lyle started frantically running away from us and we gave chase, but he was surprisingly fast and nimble.
As suddenly as he'd sped off, he halted and sat on the ground, playfully rolling around in the cool wet grass in front of the frat house.
Johnny's phone rang, and he left Lyle in his blissful delirium as he took a call from a friend back home. For the duration of the call, Lyle was gently humping Johnny's leg and laughing like a giddy goat might if goats laughed.
Eventually, it was time to go home, "Let's go home, Lyle!" we exclaimed! But Lyle screamed "Nooooooo!" and rocketed off again. Like the good shepherds we are, we managed to lure him partway up the slope until he became cognizant of our evil plan and quickly changed direction. I gave chase and, being desperate and quite drunk myself, tackled him. We toppled to the ground and started giggling.
At the rate we were going (we'd probably made 100 feet of headway in 30 minutes), we weren't going to get home anytime soon, so Johnny came up with an ingenious idea. "Hey, Lyle!" he said, "Let's go to that truck that sells delicious greasy food which always tastes 1000 times better when you're drunk! My treat!" This truck happens to be right outside our dorm, and Lyle once again changed course, finally in the right direction.
We got to the truck, as promised, and he ordered three burgers, fries, etc, etc (for himself).
Finally, with food, we were back at the dorm. Lyle took one bite of his burger and disappeared into the male bathroom. After he had been gone for 15 minutes, Johnny went to check up on him, and informed me that he had fallen asleep with his head on the toilet bowl.
I think we left him there. Close enough.
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