Tomorrow I will be leaving for St. Louis and the reunion. I probably won't be able to write anything until after the reunion, but I promise to give details (to my one reader, maybe two, out there). I won't lie and say I am excited, because really I'm not. This is not something that I look forward to with bated breath. Reunions are like parties: everyone ends up trying to one-up each other and it ends up being a pissing contest. Sample converation heard at another reunion I attended:
Man 1: "Well, I'm a lawyer now. Yup, I defend the people no will defend."
Woman 1: "I'm a doctor, and I work for the CDC."
Man 2: "That's nice. I work for the government. I'm the guy who watches over the
other agents and makes sure they don't go rogue."
Woman 2: "Hmm. Well, I'm a psychologist."
Man 1: "A psychologist? That's it? Well, you don't get paid very well."
Woman 1 and Man 2 laugh.
See the problem here? Everyone ends up trying to boost their ego and put everyone else down. It's just sad.
As for my story? I'll keep it simple. My Freshman year, I was one of the overflow students who were sent over to the Fontbonne campus to live in Wash. Hall. It was interesting to say the least. Our common room was the chapel, which made it hard to relax. Nothing like watching movies while a giant crucifix looks over your shoulder. Beyond the extra long walks to campus (and even farther walks to U-City), there was the fact that we were essentially ostracized from the regular students and became a giant family. This idea of family led to me getting into a fight.
Wash. Hall had the annual "Where in the Hell is Wash. Hall?" party and many people showed up. As the night went on, the two hundred or so students in the dorm paired up with guests for some carnal knowledge. One of my friends, Nancy, was with a guy who went from Prince Charming to Son of Satan in about ten seconds flat. He had gotten her extremely drunk and was going to attempt to use her body without her knowledge. I noticed this right away and called him on his plan. After a brief "Fuck off," from him, I decided that I could not let this happen. As Nancy lay on the floor, I grabbed this guy and threw him into the hallway. Quickly, I turned and locked the door, leaving Nancy and I alone in her room. As he beat on the door, I picked her up and put her in her bed face down. (If she was going to puke, I didn't want her to choke.) Still, he continued to pound, like a predator who smelled blood. With no other options, I opened the door and asked, "What do you want with my girlfriend?" I was sure that would do it. Nope. His reponse? "I want to fuck her. That ok?" Now, a rational and clear headed person could be talked out of certain actions. Unfortunately, anyone who is very drunk needs to be tricked or removed. In this case, only removal would work. I summoned all the strength I could and bull-rushed him, slamming him into the wall opposite the room. As he lay on the floor, stunned from being hit, I grabbed Nancy's keys and locked her door. As I turned back to check on the Romeo, I heard the tell-tale sign of the person who has had too much to drink: He was getting ready to puke. I couldn't have him puking on the floor, so I grabbed a nearby trash can and forced his head into it. Sure enough, he vomited. After a few minutes, I helped him stand up and start down the stairs.
The kicker? As we reached the bottom, he realized that I was the one who had bum rushed him and took a swing at me. He did hit me, right in the chest, but his follow up was so off course that he hit a door jamb. He held his hand and cried out in pain and another denizen of Wash. Hall, who had witnessed this event, helped me push the guy out the door and shut it before he could get back in (oh how I miss those Smart Cards).
The next day, Nancy didn't remember anything. I never saw Romeo again, and all I got for my heroics was a bruise on my chest and puke-covered shoes. The irony of it all: a few days later Nancy accused me of not being a, "stand-up guy," because I canceled a date due to the fact that the girl was crazy (she apparently would watch her roommate sleep and talk to her, even though she was asleep). I never told her about what happened. I doubt she found out about it from anyone else.