Apparently this school isn't as big as it seems. At first I stood out as a grandpa, now I am a praiseworthy, or snickerworthy, exhibit. Don’t get me wrong, most students still have no idea who I am. However, the few (the quickly increasing few) that either saw me in action at PIKE PHIsh last Saturday or have heard about the events of the night, are quite clear about their impressions of me. Guys I cannot recall having met routinely slap me on the back or yell across crowds to get my attention. Girls do not treat me with quite as much respect. Anyway, my reputation would be of little concern to me if it did not affect my relationship with my son. Daniel asked me to stay after class today, and it wasn’t about my lack of participation in Philosophy 001—I have developed a habit of smoking a bit in my car before class, and then mystifying everyone with my ideas.
“Dad. Do you know a senior named AJ?”
“A little.”
“Well he seems to know a lot about you. He’s my Tuesday Thursday class and he never hands his shit in on time. I asked him to talk to me after class. When I asked him what his issue was regarding his performance in the course, he told me to ‘chill the fuck out and have some fun like my dad.’”
“Yeah, AJ is a pretty relaxed kinda guy.”
“Yeah, Dad, I got that much. Listen, how do you two even know each other, and what does he mean telling me to have some fun like you? Are you hanging around with fraternity brothers outside of class? Have you started drinking? You smell like pot. Is this some kind of sick joke?”
That’s when I decided I’d had enough. A 63-year-old man getting lectured by his son? To hell with that. Daniel had been in full support of my decision to return to school—he never mentioned that I wasn’t allowed to associate with my peers. When it comes down to the heart of the matter… I enjoyed myself on Saturday. Obviously I took things a little too fast, but I’m sure that’s normal—I am a freshman, after all. I think I’ll start earning my reputation around campus, and hopefully retain some memory of what events contributed to it.
Also, I kinda like what the guys have started calling me—"Big Man." It has a ring to it... and it's a promotion from "Lard Ass."
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Monday, February 1, 2010
Kids these days
I apologize for the delay of this posting... I needed some time to recollect my thoughts. In fact, I still haven’t decided what to make of my experience on Saturday night. I consider myself to be the opposite of religious, but in the past 36 hours I have been doing some serious reconsideration of my morals. Regardless, I suppose I should fill you in, although I am still putting the pieces together.
I arrived outside PIKE PHIsh at 10:30. I parked on Main Street across from the house. I was dressed in my khaki cords, boots, and a plaid green flannel which I had tucked in. I had given myself a few sprays (6) of my Old Spice cologne that, to my relief, was still hidden in the back of my medicine cabinet, collecting dust. I got out of my truck and approached the door. God, I cannot get over how nervous I was... to enter a house full of kids! What was this college town doing to me?? There was a small kid at the door, no idea what he told me his name was. "I uh... I'm here for the uh..." "Are you some chick's dad?" The kid was honestly scared. "Oh, no, uh my name is—" "YO LARD ASS GET THE FUCK IN HERE BIG GUY!!!" It was AJ, thank God. This first interaction at the door had been a complete failure. "Jake, what the fuck are you doing giving this man a hard time? I told you my boy Al was coming tonight. Make him feel welcome for fuck's sake... Jesus." It appeared that AJ held a slightly dominant roll over the freshman at the door. I started to apologize for the confusion but AJ pulled me inside and put a Natural Ice in my hand. Now, I have been sober for almost two decades. Sheila *HATED* the idea of drinking. Not that it had ever been a problem with me-- I am not a substance abuser type... well... better knock on wood for that one. I told AJ I was driving. Then I made a note to myself that this is taken as a really funny joke at Pi Phi. As soon as I made my way down to the basement where the party was carrying on full swing, I kicked myself for considering refusing the beer. Where the fuck can I get another when this is gone twenty seconds? Yes, I was in a very unfamiliar setting. Awkward, some might even go so far as to call it.
Al Jenkins; 63 years of age (that's 44 more than the intoxicated female rubbing herself against me, in case anyone was wondering); standing in the midst of a dance party (the music of which is absolutely foreign to me); drinking the warmest, cheapest, and no doubt BEST beer I've ever had (20 years of sobriety is being smashed to pieces a lot faster than it was formed). Gulp. Whimper. What the fuck happens next? I was frozen.
The answer: a lot.
Specifics: not so much.
The following events of the night have been thrown together in a blender and reduced to fleeting memories that I am increasingly ashamed of.
I considered leaving. Peeling this girl off of me and getting the fuck out of this place, I’m 63, what the hell am I thinking? People are going to think I’m some perverted party animal. Damnit. No, Al, re-the-fuck-LAX. These are the type of people you are going to be spending the next four years with. They are your peers. “You look like you could go for a cig, Old Man.” It was AJ. The one borderline-familiar face in this crazy jungle. “AJ, I could go for literally ANYTHING that can help me relax right now.” “Right on buddy, in that case, let’s go upstairs.”
I woke up the following morning face down on the PIKE PHIsh bar. After the initial startle of waking up somewhere other than my bed, I glanced at my watch—it was 1:30 in the afternoon. What. The. FUCK. What happened to me last night? What did I do to myself last night? Why am I on the bar counter with a blow up doll? I need to leave. I did. I made my way up the stairs towards the door, enduring the most aggressive head-splitting pain I’ve ever had. Before I turned the knob to leave, I heard a voice behind me. It was the freshman from the door last night. “You sir. Are the man.” What was I to reply to this? My memory was providing me with no clues. I just nodded and stepped out into the blinding sunlight. The reward for my little college sleepover? Pain, memory loss, nausea, and a $50 parking ticket.
I arrived outside PIKE PHIsh at 10:30. I parked on Main Street across from the house. I was dressed in my khaki cords, boots, and a plaid green flannel which I had tucked in. I had given myself a few sprays (6) of my Old Spice cologne that, to my relief, was still hidden in the back of my medicine cabinet, collecting dust. I got out of my truck and approached the door. God, I cannot get over how nervous I was... to enter a house full of kids! What was this college town doing to me?? There was a small kid at the door, no idea what he told me his name was. "I uh... I'm here for the uh..." "Are you some chick's dad?" The kid was honestly scared. "Oh, no, uh my name is—" "YO LARD ASS GET THE FUCK IN HERE BIG GUY!!!" It was AJ, thank God. This first interaction at the door had been a complete failure. "Jake, what the fuck are you doing giving this man a hard time? I told you my boy Al was coming tonight. Make him feel welcome for fuck's sake... Jesus." It appeared that AJ held a slightly dominant roll over the freshman at the door. I started to apologize for the confusion but AJ pulled me inside and put a Natural Ice in my hand. Now, I have been sober for almost two decades. Sheila *HATED* the idea of drinking. Not that it had ever been a problem with me-- I am not a substance abuser type... well... better knock on wood for that one. I told AJ I was driving. Then I made a note to myself that this is taken as a really funny joke at Pi Phi. As soon as I made my way down to the basement where the party was carrying on full swing, I kicked myself for considering refusing the beer. Where the fuck can I get another when this is gone twenty seconds? Yes, I was in a very unfamiliar setting. Awkward, some might even go so far as to call it.
Al Jenkins; 63 years of age (that's 44 more than the intoxicated female rubbing herself against me, in case anyone was wondering); standing in the midst of a dance party (the music of which is absolutely foreign to me); drinking the warmest, cheapest, and no doubt BEST beer I've ever had (20 years of sobriety is being smashed to pieces a lot faster than it was formed). Gulp. Whimper. What the fuck happens next? I was frozen.
The answer: a lot.
Specifics: not so much.
The following events of the night have been thrown together in a blender and reduced to fleeting memories that I am increasingly ashamed of.
I considered leaving. Peeling this girl off of me and getting the fuck out of this place, I’m 63, what the hell am I thinking? People are going to think I’m some perverted party animal. Damnit. No, Al, re-the-fuck-LAX. These are the type of people you are going to be spending the next four years with. They are your peers. “You look like you could go for a cig, Old Man.” It was AJ. The one borderline-familiar face in this crazy jungle. “AJ, I could go for literally ANYTHING that can help me relax right now.” “Right on buddy, in that case, let’s go upstairs.”
I woke up the following morning face down on the PIKE PHIsh bar. After the initial startle of waking up somewhere other than my bed, I glanced at my watch—it was 1:30 in the afternoon. What. The. FUCK. What happened to me last night? What did I do to myself last night? Why am I on the bar counter with a blow up doll? I need to leave. I did. I made my way up the stairs towards the door, enduring the most aggressive head-splitting pain I’ve ever had. Before I turned the knob to leave, I heard a voice behind me. It was the freshman from the door last night. “You sir. Are the man.” What was I to reply to this? My memory was providing me with no clues. I just nodded and stepped out into the blinding sunlight. The reward for my little college sleepover? Pain, memory loss, nausea, and a $50 parking ticket.
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