I only told maybe 70
percent of the university this story, so some of you are
in luck.
My first year of college I lived in a dorm in Stokes B. Hall. More
specifically,
in the hall where "Ju Smith Crib" is probably still written on the
door. Even
MORE specifically, in that dorm room that everyone used to accidentally
knock
on at 4 a.m., spill Spaghetti-O's in front of and drop Mountain Dew
near.
I believe living in a dorm should be required for all future freshmen
at this
university. Not because it lets you meet people. Also not because it
ensures you'll be near your classes. But because I had to suffer
through it.
And so should they. Hard.
Don't think I'm complaining, but: "wahhhhhhhh!" While I consider the
dorm
semesters some of my favorite months of imprisonment ever, there
were some drawbacks. Like, for example, the illegal nature of having a
hot
plate. Now I'll admit that I'm not even that sure what a hot plate is
(I'm assuming
it has something to do with the San Andreas Fault), but the fact that
they
didn't want me to have one made me want it even more. In fact, all this
talking
is really getting me in the mood for a nice cuban cigar wrapped in bald
eagle
feathers.
Anyway, on to what this is all about. My favorite night ever in the
dorm
came my second semester. I lived alone and for some reason I was
studying.
Hey, it was college. We all experiment in college. I finally got around
to
going to sleep at around 2 a.m. when, of course, I became distracted by
some guy taking a shower. I don't know if I mentioned this, but it was
around 2 a.m. Normally white noises like water flowing, air
conditioners
blowing and Eminem make me sleep better, but for some reason this was
keeping me up. After the clock hit 2:30, I decided to go check and see
if
perhaps my naked suite mate fell in the shower.
No such luck. What happened next is forever imprinted in my memory.
The sound I heard was NOT a naked man taking a shower. But rather
gallons upon gallons of water pouring from the CEILING in my hall.
"****!" was my first response, I believe. Give or take a "*."
I could never fully understood the phrase "running around like a
chicken with
its head cut off," but I'd imagine a hick would describe my actions as
such had he witnessed my behavior from his rocking chair.
I banged on the three other doors to the dorms in my hall to wake
everyone (at 2:30 a.m.) so they could move their computers, pizza
boxes,
etc away from the growing lake within our hall. Only one of the three
gentlemen was home, so I told him "don't panic!" as I, ironically, did.
I ran upstairs in my boxers and cowboy boots (I was actually wearing
flip-flops, but boots would have been SO much funnier) to see who died
while in the shower on the second floor hallway above mine. But guess
what. THAT hallway was also flooded with even MORE water pouring from
its ceiling.
"****!" I repeated before running to the THIRD floor. This would
probably be a
good time to mention that it was 2:30 a.m.
No floors were left, so this had to be the source of the absurd amounts
of water. I opened the outer hall door and water poured out in a giant
cartoon
tidal wave.
"*---" I yelled, being rudely interrupted by the water's roar. I pulled
on the
vines of the abandoned hallway to make my way to the bathroom. Fighting
against the current, I felt like I was like Indiana Jones. Except, you
know,
without the whole sexy professor of archaeology thing going on. But I
WAS kinda worried about my Spanish test the next day, so that's
something.
As I got to the bathroom, I saw that Ashton Kutcher or someone
equally as devious/handsome plugged up FOUR sinks with toilet paper
before turning them on full blast. I did what any hero would do: I
turned off
the sinks.
I ran downstairs to move my computer and clothes from the wet side of
my dorm. I called the university police who said they'd send "a cleanup
crew" (which turned out to be a Corsica with a shop vac in the trunk).
Anyway, thanks to my quick thinking, I only lost a few notebooks to
water
damage.
Thank God I didn't have a hot plate anywhere near that side of the room.
©2004 Tim Landry
