Wasted Time

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is a short, satirical story about the so-called "college experience."

Submitted: April 25, 2017

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Submitted: April 25, 2017

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“Well, yeah, it’s Saturday night! Of course I’m going out.”

After all, only the nerds and the losers stay in on weekends.  If you’re not getting absolutely smashed every Friday and Saturday night, what are you doing with your life?  As they say, you only have the college experience once, and I’m sure as hell not going to blow it.

“Well, I was thinking, maybe, just this once, we could try something different, maybe something new and exciting, like--” says Veronica.

“Like going to that huge party at Sigma Pi everyone’s been talking about?  It’s gonna be  absolutely lit, trust me,” I interject.

Justin and Richie nod vigorously in agreement, and Richie spills some beer on his shirt.

“Aw, fuck, man,” he grumbles.  “Not again!”

“You fuckin’ klutz,” laughs Justin, elbowing Richie, who spills more beer.

“Shut up, dickhead!” says Richie, shoving Justin.  Justin pushes back, and a sluggish shoving match ensues.

“Guys, stop it!” Veronica squeals, forcing herself between the two sweaty young men.  They glare at each other, then move to opposite sides of the dorm room.  Richie quickly downs his beer and grabs another, popping it open and pouting.  Justin goes back to playing beer pong with Olivia, Susan, and Mary.  Mary edges away from Justin when he stands a little too close to her.

“Look, I get that you’re excited about this party, but we’ve gone to a frat party every weekend night for the past two months!  Doesn’t it ever start to get a bit stale for you?” says Veronica.

I look at her incredulously, exchanging glances with Victor and Richie, who smirk back at me.

Stale? Are you kidding? Boundless booze and breathtaking broads as far as the eye can see… to me, that’s paradise,” I reply.  Richie laughs.  “I would party every night if I could.  Hey, Justin, pass me another beer, would ya?”

As Justin tosses me a cold one, Veronica opens her mouth to respond.

“Yeah, ‘paradise.’  Huge, hairy guys grabbing at your body and drooling on your hair in a sweltering room with music blasting at some ungodly high volume… it doesn’t get much better than that, does it, Aaron?”

“Hey, you looked like you were having fun last night!  Who was that guy you hooked up with?  Michael?” I say.

Matthew.  And ew, no!  He was disgusting!  I had to physically push him away multiple times before he took the hint,” she says.  “Besides, I haven’t hooked up with anyone since Jason, so stop making up things that didn’t happen.”

“You really should get yourself back out there, Ver,” Mary yells over from the beer pong table.  “You’re hot! It’d be hard to find a guy who wouldn’t want to hook up with you, and you know it!”

Veronica blushes, and I can’t help but stare at her tantalizing brown eyes.  I swear, they’re like whirlpools, pulling in whatever hapless young sailor happens to be passing by and spitting him out whole before he can even sink past the surface.  Maybe one day, if she’d just give me a chance, she would finally see that I--

“Thanks, boo, but you know I can’t just do that with a total stranger… it’s too weird for me.  Call me crazy, but that’s just how I am,” says Veronica.

“Whatever you say, girlie,” yells Olivia, sinking a shot over at the pong table.  As she shrieks with delight and high fives Susan, I take careful note of her voluptuous figure.  I can’t wait to get to the party, where I know I’ll be surrounded by dozens of scantily-clad Olivias.  It’s genius that frats let them in for free.  Thank the lord sororities can’t have parties.  What a genius system.  It’s like a fuckin’ harem every night!  Take your pick!  Enjoy the buffet!

“Well, you can’t complain anyway,” I say.  “You guys get in for free.  We have to pay.”

“Still, frats are gross,” says Veronica.  “If I were a boy, I wouldn’t pay to get into one of those pissholes.”

“You claim to be a feminist, Veronica,” says Victor, “but I haven’t heard you say a peep about the blatant misogyny inherent in the fraternity system.  Same with you, Susan.”

Susan flips him off.

“Oh, shut up, Victor,” I say.  “I’m too drunk for your big words, and no one wants to talk about fuckin’ politics and shit right now.”

“Dude, it’s a serious issue!  In my eyes, at least, but no one wants to talk about it because everyone would rather just get drunk and have sex every weekend without thinking twice,” he says.

“That’s exactly right, Victor,” says Justin, grinning as he sinks yet another shot into a red solo cup.  He tries to hug Mary, but she pushes him away, grimacing.  Justin shrugs, and Mary takes another shot of tequila.

“Dude, admit it, you’re just bitter because you don’t drink and you can’t get girls,” says Richie, drunkenly attempting to open his sixth beer of the evening.

“You know I’m saving myself for marriage!” exclaims Victor, blushing.  Everyone bursts out in laughter.

“What? When I told Father Flanagan, he said I was making a very intelligent choice, and that I’m ‘truly wise beyond my years,’” Victor says smugly.  “Stop laughing!”

“I can’t believe you actually believe all that horseshit they force down your throat in church,” says Justin, sneering.  “Becoming an atheist was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made, and it makes listening to you people spew your fairy tale garbage fuckin’ hilarious!”

“I have a personal relationship with Christ, Justin,” says a steely Victor.  “And I think you could really benefit from one, too.”

“‘Personal fuckin’ relationship with fuckin’ Christ,’” says Justin, laughing hysterically.  “Oh, loving and merciful Lord, forgive Victor for being such a fuckin asshat!”

“Alright, alright, enough!” shouts Veronica, waving her arms in the air as if she is attempting to fly away.  “Let’s all just try to be friends, okay?”

“Yeah, I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough politics and religion for a full month,” I add, grinning at Veronica.  She doesn’t return my smile.  Even in her angered state, she is so incredibly sexy.

“Alright, who’s ready to go?  We’ve been pre-gaming for almost two hours now,” says Susan impatiently.  Ah, pre-gaming.  Another absolutely genius invention.  Getting drunk before you actually get to the party saves so much time.  It lets you cut right to chase, jump right in, if you catch my drift.  You still drink at the party, of course, but you’ll already be drunk when you arrive.  Then comes either the post-game, or, even better, the coveted hook-up.

“Yeah, we can go now,” I say as Victor pushes past me, reaching for the door handle.

“Fuck all of you,” he says, flipping us off.  “I’m staying in tonight to watch SNL.”

“Whatever you say, man,” says Justin, laughing.  He bumps fists with Richie.

Victor shakes his head and slams the door.  I wait a few moments, then open it as we all file into the hallway.

“What the hell was his problem?” asks Olivia, looking puzzled.

“Something to do with him not being able to get girls,” says Justin, laughing.

“You don’t have to be such a dick all the time, you know,” says Veronica, frowning.

“He’s a fuckin’ Jesus freak, Veronica!  You heard him!” says Justin, gesturing in the general direction of Victor’s room.

“You should at least respect his beliefs, Justin,” she curtly replies, not making eye contact.

“Goddamn.  The world’s gone mad.  I need another beer,” says Justin, sighing loudly.

“So, anyway,” says Susan, attempting to ease the tension, “did I tell you guys about the guy who wore a gorilla suit to my Art History lecture on Thursday?”

“Wha-- no!  Do tell!” says Mary.

As Susan tells her story, I zone out as I stare at her perfect ass, hidden somewhere under those flowery green hippie pants.  She’s gorgeous, despite the fact that she never wears makeup or washes her long, curly brown hair.  She seems to be convinced she’s living in the 1960s; I mean, she wears a fucking dandelion in her hair nearly every day!  And she’s so smart, too.  Valedictorian of her high school, even though she’d never tell you.  She doesn’t really drink, though, and surprisingly, she’s not into weed, either.  She’s a bona fide hippie, but doesn’t smoke pot!  Unbelievable, I know.  It’s too bad, really.  Doesn’t ever hook up with guys, either.  It’s her life, I guess, and don’t get me wrong, I respect her choices!  I just don’t get it.

Before long, we make it to Sigma Pi.  The line’s a little long, but we’ve been hearing all week about how lit this party is supposed to be, so we decide to wait.  A few people step out of line; one of them is puking.  Pathetic, I know.

Finally, we get to the door.  As I reach into my wallet for ten dollars, the girls walk in.  The four frat bros at the door check each of them out, nodding with approval.  I envy these frat guys.  They have it all: a free ticket to parties every weekend, girls to hook up with whenever they want, and, best of all, a real, genuine brotherhood.  I kick myself for not rushing a frat this year.  Next semester, I vow to myself.

I hand one of the guys my $10, and he stamps my hand.  I walk in, flanked by Justin and Richie, and scan the basement for the bar.  The music is blasting, as expected, and the whole room reeks of weed.  For such a wonderful plant, marijuana really does smell terrible when it burns.  As we make our way through the sea of inebriated dancing students, I spot Mary and Olivia, but I don’t see the bar.

“Yo, dude, check out that girl over there,” says Richie, gesturing toward the corner of the room, where a tan latina dressed in all white is dancing like a fuckin’ stripper on a pole.  Why the hell is there a pole down here?  Only in college, I guess.

“Damn, bro,” says Justin, unable to avert his stare.  He makes brief eye contact with the latina, who winks and beckons him toward her.  In a matter of seconds, he is dancing beside her in a proximity that would make Victor’s Father Flanagan cringe.

“Looks like we lost him for the night,” remarks Richie, laughing.

“Yeah,” I say, only half paying attention to his comment.  “Hey, where’s the bar?  I need to chug a few beers.”

Some tall older guy with round John Lennon sunglasses who is passing by overhears me and points toward the far corner of the room, opposite of where Justin is getting his lap dance.

“It’s over there, brah,” he says.  “Hey, brah, you smoke?”  He is holding a blunt in his hand, and he pushes it in my direction.  I nod, staring at his bright red dreadlocks.  Only in college.

“Take a hit, brodie,” he says, grinning.

“Uh-- alright, man,” I stammer.  “Thanks.”  I take a hit and begin to cough, prompting a laugh from my new pal.

“You a freshman?” he asks, taking back his blunt.

“Yeah,” I answer.  He laughs again.

“I can tell,” he says, still grinning.  He takes another hit, then offers me the blunt for a second time.  I try again, this time managing not to break into a coughing fit like an idiot.  I turn around to see what Richie is making of the Bob-Marley-look-alike, but he isn’t there.  I do a quick scan of the room and spot him about twenty yards away, dancing with a very drunk frumpy blonde.

“Look, brah,” says Redlocks.  (Genius, I know.  Red + dreadlocks = Redlocks.)  “These bitches don’t want nothin’ to do with some awkward freshman.  You gotta have confidence, brodie.  Swagger.  Watch.”

Redlocks hands me his blunt and walks toward the stripper-dancer latina girl.  I pocket it and look on as he grabs her by the hips and pulls her away from Justin, who stares open-mouthed as she begins to grind on the very tall newcomer.  I can’t help but laugh.  Redlocks pulls her closer to him, and the two of them start making out.  He opens his eyes and winks at me, raising his right arm above the latina’s head and pointing at her as if to say, “Look, kid.  This is how you do it.”  Wow.  Maybe this guy does know what he’s talking about.  Just then, Justin spots me and stumbles over in a huff.

“What the fuck are you staring at?” he asks me angrily.  I can only point at Redlocks and the latina, awestruck by what has just transpired.

“So you saw what that fuckin’ asshole did with my girl?” he demands, his fists balled up.  “I was supposed to be the one making out with her, not that fuckin’ giraffe!”

“Dude, that guy is some kind of magician or something,” I say softly.  Justin doesn’t hear me.

“Fuck!” he yells.  “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

As he makes off for the bar, I wonder if I can manage to pull off what this genius with red dreadlocks has just accomplished.  Scanning the room, I spot my target in a matter of seconds.  She’s a petite brunette, complete with a round ass and a stunning rack.  She’s dancing on a short, stocky guy with a buzz cut, who is decked out in a green sleeveless shirt with a skull on the front and tan khaki shorts.  I make my way over, forcing myself to continue on my mission with every nervous step.  If Redlocks could do it, so can I.

She glances at me for a second, and I realize I am staring directly at her.  I avert my gaze, but continue to walk toward her until I am standing right next to her.  Before I make my move, I take a quick look around the room.  I see Mary and Olivia dancing with the frat guys who let us in over in the corner.  Justin is drinking a beer beside them, sulking.  Richie is still with that blonde, who looks like she may puke or pass out at any minute.  I take a deep breath, then turn toward my target and grab her by the hips.

Before I can pull her onto my waist, she slaps at my hands and pushes me away.  Shit.

“Hey!” yells the guy with whom she was just dancing.  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

I break into a cold sweat.  The guy advances toward me menacingly, and the petite brunette steps behind him.

“Uh, well, you see, I was just, um, trying to, uh--” I stammer, not sure how I will finish the sentence.  By now, one of his friends has walked up next to him, a nearly-empty beer bottle in hand.  Don’t ask me how I notice the amount of beer left in the bottle in the heat of the moment; I’m just very observant, I guess.  He glares at me, and they both take another step toward me.

“Trying to what, you fuckin’ perv?” he asks.  They take another step, and I realize I’m backed up against the wall.  A small crowd has started to form around us, perhaps sensing that a fight may be imminent.

“You think you can just walk up and grab someone’s girlfriend?” he asks, more loudly this time. “Huh?  You think you’re fuckin’ Donald Trump or somethin’?”

I laugh nervously, then quickly realize that was a mistake.  His face turns red with anger, and he grabs the beer bottle out of his friend’s hand.  My god.  He’s going to hit my with the bottle.  Why the fuck did I ever think this idea would work?  How the hell did Redlocks pull it off?  This is supposed to be the ‘college experience,’ isn’t it?  Everyone gets wasted out of his or her mind, then guys get to go out and fuck whatever girls they choose, right?  That’s how it’s supposed to be!  That’s how it is in the fuckin’ movies!

As my tirade of confused and angry thoughts culminates, I notice that a reallybig crowd has materialized around us.  Some of the frat guys are chanting for us to fight.  The guy I’ve pissed off thrusts the beer bottle over his shaved head and cathartically screams.  I notice a tattoo of a machine gun on his arm.  Lovely.  I also notice the toned muscle around that tattoo and gulp with trepidation.

“Aaron!”  Someone is yelling my name.  I look out into the crowd to try to find the source of the shouting.

“Aaron!  Aaron!”  It’s Veronica.  She is jumping up and down, frantically waving her arms in an effort to get my attention.  I make eye contact with her.  The fear in her eyes makes my stomach drop.

“Aaron!” she yells again, pointing.  “Duck!”

Before I can register what she has said, I feel a shattering explosion of pain as the beer bottle collides with my right temple.  I taste blood as it drips down into my mouth.  The room is spinning, and all I see are fuzzy colors.  I hear muted yelps and screams of victory through my ringing ears.  My head is throbbing, but I feel a strange warm sensation throughout my body, as if I am falling asleep.  Like the end of a movie, everything slowly, quietly fades to black.


 

********


 

“They found WHAT?”

I look up from my not-so-comfortable white hospital bed at my friends, who are gathered in a circle around me.  Olivia, Mary, Justin, Richie, Susan, and Veronica are all here.  No sign of Victor, though.  Oh, well.

“Yeah, apparently it was in your pocket,” says Justin.  “What I want to know is why you even had a blunt in the first place.  We didn’t smoke last night!”

Suddenly, like a cold wave splashing me in the face, it all comes back.  The really tall guy with the round John Lennon sunglasses and red dreadlocks!  The one who gave me the “advice” that earned me eight stitches and a concussion.  Just thinking about him makes my temple throb.

“That’s a story for another day, my friend,” I say, half-grinning.  “Wait, what ended up happening to the guy who hit me over the head with the bottle?”

My friends all start to laugh.

“What?  What’s so funny?”

“He was a senior member of Sigma Pi.  Essentially ran the whole frat.  And you stole his girl,” says Justin, still laughing.

“I did not ‘steal his girl,’” I reply, making air quotes with my fingers, which makes them laugh even harder.  “She rejected me!”

“As she should have!” says Susan.  “That was a real pig move by you, you know.”

“Oh, come on, Susan,” I argue, “it’s the college experience!”

“That’s not an excuse for grabbing women!” says Veronica.

“Yeah, yeah,” says Justin.  “Let’s all just go out tonight and get blasted so we can forget about all of this.”

“First of all, I doubt they’ll discharge me by tonight, dude,” I say.  “And second of all, I got caught with weed!  Wasn’t I technically supposed to be put under arrest or something?”

“No, I sweet-talked the police officer into letting you off with a warning,” says Olivia, winking at me.

“Oh, okay, great!  Uh, thanks!” I say.  “But third of all, it’s Sunday!  There aren’t going to be any parties on a Sunday night!”

“Sure there are!  I know a guy in Phi Upsilon who says they’re throwing an absolute rager tonight!” says Justin.

“Look, Justin, you can go out if you want, but I’m going to stay here with Aaron,” says Veronica, glaring at him and then turning her soft brown eyes and easy smile to me.

“Me too,” says Susan.

“And me,” says Olivia.

“Don’t forget me!” pipes Mary.

“I guess I’ll stay, too,” mumbles Richie.

“Damn, guys, Aaron’s going to be fine!” says Justin.  “Besides, he would want us to go out, wouldn’t you, buddy?”

I look at Justin as if I’m seeing him in the light for the first time.  What kind of friend says that?  The rest of these guys are being true friends, but Justin-- well, he’s just being himself, I guess.

“You know what?  Just go out, Justin, and have fun,” I say, smiling.  “Let me know how it goes.  I don’t think I’ll be going out again-- for a while, at least, anyway.”

Justin looks at me warily, sensing a shift in my tone.

“Okay, buddy,” he says uneasily.  “Feel better!”  He walks through the door, closing it quietly behind him.

“Can you believe him?” Veronica asks.  The other girls nod and grunt in agreement.  Richie looks longingly out the door, then turns back toward the group.

“So, if we’re not going out this weekend, what are we going to do?” he asks me, a puzzled expression on his face.

“Well, I was thinking maybe we could try something different,” I say, looking toward Veronica, who returns my smile.  “Something new and exciting.”

“Like what?” asks Olivia.

“I was hoping you’d ask,” says a glowing Veronica.  “There’s this new Thai place that just opened up on Palace Street, so I was thinking we go there for dinner at around seven, then afterward, there’s this really pretty spot on the hill next to Luchsinger Hall that I hear has an amazing view I’ve been meaning to check out, and I was thinking we could all go there with blankets and just lay down and talk and wait for the stars to come out, and then maybe we could…”

As she excitedly describes her plans to the group, I smile and close my eyes.  Maybe I was looking in all the wrong places for the college experience.  Maybe, after all these weekends of trying so hard to have fun, everything I’ve been looking for has been right under my nose all along.


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