As I explained when this column debuted, Little Shapiro, Big World is about doing things that are outside my comfort zone. These have been, and usually will be, situations I actively seek out that make me feel squirmy for comedic purposes. However, there is a big difference between uncomfortable and terrifying. This anecdote falls in the latter category.
If I fear anything in this world, it is something unknown and creepy coming into my room while I am sleeping. When I was a kid, it was mummies, because obviously a 4,000-year-old decaying pharaoh would make the effort to come to Westchester, N.Y., to freak out a third grader. More recently, my more realistic monsters have taken the form of a serial killer or Michael Bolton. Who I did not anticipate would ever interrupt my slumber was a 27-year-old, trashy version of Goldilocks. For the purposes of this column, let us call her Karen.
Now, we have all at one point or another been so intoxicated that we end up in a place we are not supposed to be. I myself have been known to do somersaults down a snowy State Street because why the hell not? I am understanding of such situations, and hell, it's college.
However, my patience for such shenanigans has a limit. Where do I draw the line? When I am lying in my bed at 5 a.m. and Karen, the adult who has no business being in my sophomore slum apartment, rummages through the stuff in my room and screams "I DON'T KNOW WHERE I AM!"
My first reaction to the situation is that she might be the devil manifest and maybe my family chose the wrong religion to deal with such a situation, i.e. oh my god, I'm going to die! My second reaction, which I vocalize as calmly as possible, is "WHO ARE YOU AND WHY ARE YOU IN MY ROOM?"
I manage to feign some sort of composure as I shepherd her into the living room where my friend is crashing and slowly waking up in confusion. Karen explains that the last thing she remembers is going on the Capital Brewery tour before waking up on my couch. I assumed she had just wandered in on, of course, the only night I forget to lock the door. She has no shoes, no coat and no phone. She is not a student, she is not from Madison and she does not know where she is.
I ask her is she could call anyone, but she does not know any numbers off hand. I log her into Facebook so she can look up people she can contact, but she does not really bother. I offer to call and pay for a cab to take her back to from whence she came, but she does not want to.
"Can't I just sleep on your couch?" Karen asks. "I'm super nice! I won't steal anything."
Over my dead body you will sleep on my couch (again). So when I tell her we should probably find another solution to the situation, she got all Charles-Dickens-pathetic-waif on me and moaned, "Please, don't send me outside! It's so cold! I'll freeze!" I have a soft spot for such stock literary characters, but this chick is still getting the hell out of my apartment.
After another 15 minutes of questioning as to where she was staying, she realizes that her buddy lives in the same complex, but she refuses to go alone. As I gather some shoes and warm garments for her to wear, she bursts into my room (again) and announces, "Oh my god, my friend! He lives right across the hall, LOL!"
LOL, indeed. After one very awkward and unwanted hug, she was finally out and I reflected on how calmly I had dealt with the situation. I felt like a real adult and that maybe I could take on the real world with all of its obstacles. And then I called my mom and cried.
The next day she left a note under my door and texted me. I bought myself a can of mace. Friendsiez!
Want to buy Ariel a deadbolt? She'd appreciate it. Email her your offer to arshapiro@dailycardinal.com.
