Some parties are so dull and boring that the only options left are to get too drunk and be forced to leave or run away. Sometimes, I choose both.
It was the second night of Halloween, and I was dressed up as Aphrodite the Goddess of Love. Halloween in college is completely different from the Halloween I knew as a child; instead of going door to door for candy, college students go door to door looking for parties and alcohol. The downside to this is that some Halloween parties are closed to the masses of costumed students wandering about. It was already getting late and we had been to a few parties earlier, but none worth staying for, so we left in search of a different scene. I followed my group of friends down the street and despite my drunken state, I grew frustrated with my lack of alcohol and badly wanted to find a dance party. Things got interesting when a group of lumberjacks passing by asked me to join them for a late night park adventure. I stopped to talk to them, and my friends continued down the street thinking I would catch up with them eventually. The lumberjacks were persistent in their efforts to get me to agree to go to the park with them, and if I were sober when this happened, my pepper spray can would have been running low and the lumberjacks’ eyes would be burning like hell. Instead, I asked the flannel-clad bearded men to give me a second as I called T-Pow to ask her what I should do since I am incapable of making decisions on my own. “A group a lumberjacks want me to go to a park with them…should I do it?” When T-Pow delivered the obvious answer of “Hell no! where are you? I’m coming to get you,” I ran away from the lumberjacks and up the stairs of a random house with jack-o-lanterns lining the porch which I used to conceal myself from the them. When they grew weary of looking for me and coercing me to come to the park with them, I crept down the stairs and into the house to use the bathroom.
“Who do you know here?!?!” Demanded the angry drunk guy answering the door. I was terrified but really had to use the bathroom, so I quickly made up a name. “Charles!” I answered. In college, the best excuse to get into a party is to pull the bathroom card. An even better card to pull is the fake name card. Charles may not be the most popular college name to use, but the angry drunk bouncer pushed me through the door and immediately I was blinded by strobe lights and drunk people using the dance floor for their personal sexual enjoyment; some college parties are too emulative of brothels. After locating the restroom, I shut the door and peed faster than a college rugby guy could shotgun a beer in order to get the hell out of there. A nice drunk girl barged in the bathroom and began striking up a conversation while kindly waiting her turn. She asked me what I thought of the party and after I told her I was leaving, she begged that I stay. “I really have to go! Someone’s looking for me!” I said as I shut the bathroom door for her and found myself immersed in the masses of drunkards trying to dance once again. Out the back door I escaped and noticed Dennis waiting for me on the corner of the street to take me back to T-Pow.
Things calmed down and the night ended with me watching a movie with T-Pow and Dennis in the basement of our dorm. When T-Pow inquired about my night, I explained to her how offended I was that the lumberjacks wanted me to join them in the park because I was “Aphrodite, the Goddess of Love, NOT the Goddess of Making Love!” If only alcohol was anathema to me instead of lumberjacks, I would not find myself in these precarious situations to begin with.