For the next two weeks, I’ll be participating in The Scintilla Project. What that means: they’ll be e-mailing me prompts, and I’ll be writing on them. And if I fall behind, maybe this whole experiment will drag out for more than two weeks.
Want to join in? Click here.
Day 2: Tell a story about something interesting (anything!) that happened to you, but tell it in the form of an instruction manual.
This is a night that actually took place in the Spring of 2006. Most of my sorority sisters laugh so hard they cry when we re-tell this story, only because it was so incredibly awful. Will it translate into instructions? I have no way of knowing. But in the spirit of dragging up seriously old stuff for Scintilla, we’ll give it a try.
- One checked-out boyfriend
- One house of sorority sisters
- A too-drunk roommate
- One house of fraternity brothers
- Two fraternity houses (physical structure)
- One bottle of Captain Morgan Rum
- One denim mini-skirt
- One pair of black leggings from Express
- (?) Cases of The Beast
- One Edward Scissor Hands Doll
Get. Ready. It’s Saturday night. As sorority life in 2006 was overwhelmingly full of denim mini skirts over leggings (WTH was that all about?), probably assume that I wore that. An off-the-shoulder top may or may not have been involved. Try not to judge me for living every night like it was 80’s night.
Pre-party. At the fraternity you are sweetheart for. In a room that is much too small for the number of sorority sisters and fraternity brothers who want to be in there. You will take shots of rum without abandon. You will never drink rum again after this night.
Watch. As one of your roommates (you live in a quad) takes half-finished shots off of the bar. This is not an encouraging sight.
Thank. Another sorority sister as she calls it a night and takes that roommate of yours back to the house.
Agree. When she calls you and tells you that she tucked that roommate into your bed (you sleep in the bottom bunk, she sleeps in the top) and put a trash can by her head so that she won’t puke on your pillow. You’ll probably think that putting that trash can there was a thoughtful move. Because she saved your pillow.
Dance. Around your silent, Romanian boyfriend from another fraternity. Because it’s 10:00 PM. The party is finally getting started. And he’s there.
Leave. The party. At 11:00 PM. Because your silent boyfriend wants to head-off to his place.
Stand. In the middle of the room as your boyfriend tells you that he doesn’t want to be in a relationship anymore. Mentally cross yourself and Thank God that you did not sleep with him. In six months, his ex-girlfriend will tell you that he tried to throw her down a flight of stairs.
Thank. God again.
Seriously. you just dodged so many bullets.
Answer. Your phone in the middle of the world’s longest break-up that you’re not emotionally invested in. Obviously you’re taking all of this seriously.
Listen. As the second of your three roommates tells you that she thinks your Too Drunk roommate wet your bed.
Home. Get there.
Walk. Into your room. Where you are able to confirm visually that your roommate did, in fact, wet your bed.
Laugh. At yourself because you thought that vomit on your pillow was the biggest threat of the evening. The good news = your pillow is not wet.
Climb. Into your roommate’s dry bunk.
Shriek. As you discover that not only is she an adult stuffed animals-hoarder, but that she sleeps with an Edward Scissor Hands Doll. Seriously, who does that?
Throw. The Edward Scissor Hands Doll across the room. Several years from now, this will be the comedic foil that makes the story for you.
Close. Your eyes. There will be time enough tomorrow to pick through the pieces.