After a month or 2 my freshers year started to truck along quite nicely. A wee routine had developed:
-Get up at 4pm for a 1 hour long shower to shrug off the hangover and feverishly masturbate.
-Dinner at 5 pm
– Start drinking from around 7pm till late.
Of course drinking only really accounted for 4 or 5 nights of the week. The others were reserved for cinema trips, youthful folly and miscellaneous. Classes were never an issue either. A couple of mandatory practicals a week were the only blemishes on an otherwise flawless diary. There were meant to be 3 lectures a day but unless there was a register, then it’s a sure as hell fire I never went. In fact, I did get pulled in by some attendance commissioner for not appearing in class but my unrivaled ability to dig my way out of holes came to the fore.
Times were good. I was making friends, gaining confidence, growing up and walking around pretty chuffed with my endeavors. Armed with a meaty student loan and no-one telling me what to do the world was my Oyster. In hindsight though, I simply see that time as a period of rapid growth. I did many cringe worthy, embarrassing things and immaturity was still much of what I was about.
Bored one night me and a couple of mates went to a girls room we knew in one of the cell blocks. The door was open but no-one at home. Like any cold blooded 18 year old would do we decided to hide, wait for her to come back then giver her a fright ( In my 18 year old head I thought this was courting),
The downside was, hiding places were hard to come by in a tiny little cell/room. Thinking well and truly inside the box, one went into the wardrobe, one under the bed covers and myself under her desk. The problem was, she wasn’t 3 years old. She would see someone under her duvet, me under the desk and the wardrobe had to much stuff in it. The plan was in tatters. However, In a moment of fleeting genius we figured out that if we emptied some of her clothes and threw them on the bed then there would be enough room in the wardrobe and the guy under the covers would just look like a pile of clothes. That’s the kind of intellect that got us into Uni in the first place. We then managed to pile a bunch of her random folders and junk into a wall for me to hide behind under the desk. All the pieces were coming together. All this effort for 2 seconds of possible hilarity. Anyway, we waited…
5 minutes went by, then 10, then 15.
Wardrobe friend “I’m so hot, I’m sweating all over her stuff. Where the fuck is she?”
Me “I don’t know, my back hurts and I’m bursting on a piss”
Bed friend “This is the best wank I’ve ever had!!”
Eventually a mutual friend came by also looking for her.
Me “Oi it’s us”
Mutual friend “What the fuck happened in here?”
Me ” We are waiting to give her a fright”
Mutual friend ” She will get a fright when she says what you have done to her room!!”
Eventually he texts her and it transpires she had just started watching a film in a friends room. Giving up, we attempted to ram all of her clothes back into the wardrobe after having some fun trying them on. We then left and went about our night.
From the eyes of the girl: She left her room, went to a friends for a nice chilled movie night then comes back a couple of hours later to find the place trashed to all fuck, her clothes stretched, lying in a pile in front of the wardrobe and the place smelling of BO.
That night was the second time I had inadvertently ruined a girls room. The fire had been lit a couple of weeks earlier by spewing in that girls bucket and malting pubes all over her bathroom. Now sober I was continuing the trend. A trend that would get so horribly out of control. This is the reason I remember that story so vividly. Nights of childish hi-jinx were to turn much more disgusting a couple of years down the line as I grew older with time.
For now though the innocence was still pure and the drinks were still flowing. The routine rarely deviated during that first winter at Uni. One morning I was awoken by half a tree getting thrown on top of me. Several of my friends had found out the lock on my ground floor cell window was broken so for the second half of first year I rarely returned to my room without their being some sort of anomaly. The only downside was taking I girl back to the room;
“Why is there a large dead tree in your room?”
“Where is your mattress?”
“Where is everything you own?”
Those were a few of the questions I faced when entertaining. Looking back, if I was a friend I would have just set up a video camera facing the bed or had some chains hanging from the bed posts. That would have been much harder to explain. I did get my own back on one friend though when we manged to pile up some junk and climb into his first floor window. Naturally I decided to piss in his kettle and boil it. Not great for any student keen on noodles. I doubt boiled piss is even that unhealthy but none the less we ended up swapping.
Eventually one of the lads actually managed to gain access to an un-occupied room. For some reason the 3 blocks of catered halls (jail cells) had a system where every key would access 2 locks. It just so happens one of those was in between two of my friends rooms. The room got emptied (I stole the mattress to have in reserve) while in general it got used as the ‘go too weed smoking room.’ This took the idea of breaking into rooms out of the spotlight and meant all the stoners could get stoned together without fear of their possessions getting thrown out the window.
A midst all the tomfoolery a couple of us auditioned for Big Brother. We got no where but was yet another stepping stone on my own personal new found confidence and lease of life. There were also exams in the middle of first year just to keep everyone on their toes. Two of my modules were a breeze and easily passed with knowledge from high school but my Achilles heel was chemistry.
I had never studied it past standard grade in school and went to none of the lectures so it was to be some what of a stumbling block. I did go to the compulsory practicals with mixed results. They were always on a Tuesday which meant a hangover. If there is anything on this fucking planet you do not want to do on a hangover, it’s lab experiments with Ethanol. I remember having to run out of class one day, not to spew but drop a deuce.
Whenever I need to drop a deuce in a public place I will always use the disabled toilet (shame on me). This time, in my haste I never locked the toilet properly and to add sweet, sweet icing onto the cake, the toilet was directly facing the door.
Now I’ve used many a disabled toilet in my days and this is the only occasion a disabled person has ever, EVER needed to use one at the same time!
Midway through this gut wrenching hangover induced Cleveland steamer, a man on a wheelchair slowly begins to open the door and roll his way in, solemnly unveiling me like the two hundred and fifty thousand pound box on deal or no deal. As soon as our eyes meet he panics, lets go of the door and jams his wheelchair between the door and the wall.
Disabled guy “You should have locked the door!”
Me “I thought I did!”
There was an awkward silence. Not only that, but we were now conducting this conversation while I was still sitting on the toilet, trousers at my ankles. He eventually tries to reverse out but he was unable, his wheelchair was caught on the handle or something, I don’t fucking know. It was an unmitigated disaster. He was stuck!
After a few deeply disturbing seconds more, it was obvious that I really needed to get up and help him out. It was the least I could do! I guy In a god damn wheelchair was stuck in the door of the toilet and I was sitting watching with my pants down.
But think about it, what the fuck was I actually meant to do?? Just get up and start wiping my arse directly in front of him while he had no choice but to watch? Stand up and shuffle over? I had already lost all morality and dignity but simply using a toilet not built for a healthy mans arse. The one toilet this poor disabled, middle aged man could use in the giant labyrinth that was the chemistry department and he couldn’t go because a hungover, decrepit student with an outrages yellow afro was currently parked on it and causing a smell of satanic proportions. Not only all of that…!!!! He was now about to get up and WIPE HIS FILTHY ARSE, cock and balls dangling away, just a couple of meters in front of his helpless, innocent eyes. Jesus wept. Add to all that, the door was obviously half open. Any eventual passer by would stop and see a disabled my stuck in a door, try to assist then look up to see me wiping my arse in front of him. Oh did I mention the smell? yea? Ok, well it was bad. I was also sweating heavily.
Literally one second before I was about to get up he managed to free himself and reverse out. If there is a God, that is the moment he thought “Fuck this I’m stepping in here.”
When I walked out the door the man had gone. The embarrassment must have been more overwhelming than his need for the toilet. I should have just finished all the toilet roll and cemented my place in hell.
This escapade was just anther reason to hate chemistry. A couple of weeks later me and my mate Spike (my friends who will repeatedly appear in these stories have been giving names from Disney films) got into trouble because we had to leave due to severe hangovers. The Russian woman who gave out the lab equipment went a bit Joseph Stalin and threatened to throw us off the course but the head lecturer sympathized and we were let off once again.
Spike managed to rub salt in the wound by turning up to the actual exam hungover. He went drinking with one of the other lads the night before. The other lad then turned up having not slept a wink. He had went back to some chicks flat and started bumping cocaine before losing his virginity. He aced the exam though. In fact they both got exceptionally high scores whereas I passed by a whisker and I was the sober one. Lesson learned…
Once the first set of annual exams were passed it was back to alcohol and shenanigans. There were more awful situations to get myself in. About 4 more years of awful situations to be precise.