You can imagine my indefatigable exhilaration last Saturday morning around 3 a.m. when I realized that I didn't have to get up five hours later to do a power hour or a few beer bongs to get properly lubricated for the game.
After three weeks of generally displeasing Saturday evenings due to exhaustion from the Badger games, it was time to take back the night.
Fast forward to 8 p.m. after I received a few calls from friends wondering if I had heard of any outrageous soir??es. I had not. Unfortunately, the last of my Jack Daniel's reserve was tapped, thus my apartment wasn't an option for even the smallest of pre-party festivities.
As the night wore on, it became painfully clear that quality parties would be of limited availability. I was close to giving up hope for a wild night until we rounded up a few of our fellow merrymakers and headed to a party we had heard of.
I will digress momentarily in order to point out two of the most damning problems plaguing parties everywhere since the first coffer of rum was imported to the Colonies from the West Indies: 1) drunk nimrods who can't hold their liquor and 2) drunk nimrods who feel the need to ruin a good party because, deep down, at their most base level, they are complete and utter assholes.
In the most unfortunate turn of events on the night, we encountered a young man who embodied both of the characteristics cited above when we arrived at our destination.
My entourage consisted of five gentlemen, all very caring individuals. As we prepared to ascend the steps into what we hoped would be a delightful social gathering, a cry was uttered that made our blood run cold-\FRESHMEN!""
Granted, I have nothing against freshmen. Sure, they run around like chickens with their heads cut off until the last month of their second semester, but like many of you, I was once among their number. Regrettably, the drunk moron stationed at the entryway, whom we'll refer to as ""Door-Troll,"" mistook us for a pack of party-hungry frosh.
There have been times, especially during Welcome Week, when I'd see an entire dorm floor stalking down the streets of Park, Fahrenbrook or Spring, desperately searching for even one quarter-barrel upon which to converge, and I'd vocally remind them of their class standing-a rite of passage for sophomores.
Yet I query, when did it become socially unacceptable here to walk with a small group of friends on a weekend night? It seems every time I go out with some friends, there's always some yokel in an '88 Cutlass right there with a defamatory slur referring to the size of our group. Door-Troll apparently felt six guys were too many to be going anywhere on a Saturday night, especially to the party at which he had volunteered to be the obligatory drunk loser.
We stood outside the party for about 15 minutes while Door-Troll inundated us with his vulgar and grammatically incorrect insults, most of which he probably learned while hanging out under a bridge.
Some of us contemplated roughing up Door-Troll, but after some personal reflection, we decided to take the high road and drink for free at another venue, and let the three billy goats take Door-Troll down when they got to the party a bit later.
The moral of this fable? Don't be a loser Door-Troll. And don't be a jerk to random people, because they might just have their own column.
writePNL@yahoo.com.
