Sex, Drugs, and Friendship

My name is J. The following is a collection of true stories about my freshman year in college here at Plattsburgh State. I have left the actual names of people out in order to protect them from certain prosecution. I have heard somewhere that college can be a life changing experience, and I would have to agree. That being said, I hope you have as much fun reading these stories as I did living them.

I. Things that go bump in the night

"Squeak, Squeak, Squeak." I slowly open my eyes to peek through the dark room at my roommate's bed. His body is slowing moving up and down, causing the near ancient bed springs to squeak relentlessly. I close my eyes, and stuff a pillow over my head, hoping to drown out the noise. It won't go away, but it instead gets louder and louder, until I can't stand it any longer. "What the hell is that," I ask to no one in particular. Once again, I pry my sleepy eyes open, but this time I find the long blond hair of a woman beneath his bouncing torso. I quickly register what is happening, and run to the light. "What the fuck!" The two torsos stop moving. "Get that girl out of here right now." This is my first impression of my roommate, who from this point on we'll call PIMP. A tall, fairly attractive girl slowly crawls out of his bed, and attempts to cover up her nudity with a very ugly zebra-print sheet. "It's a little too late for that now, don't you think?" This girl who I have never seen before glares at me, grabs her things, and runs out of the room, with PIMP's ugly sheet still wrapped around her already exposed body. Once the door closes, I turn towards PIMP in anger. "Put some clothes on."

"Why, I can sleep naked if I want to."

"I don't give a shit how you sleep, but we both know that's not what you were doing." PIMP puts on his underwear while hiding behind a blanket very similar to his sheet. As he picks up his head to look at me, I punch him right in the jaw. He falls down with a grunt, and I hold him there with my forearm pressed firmly over his throat. Once he stops struggling, I begin to talk. "Okay, here's the deal Casanova. You can fuck whoever you want, whenever you want to, as long as I'm here. Understand?" I slowly relinquish the pressure on his throat just enough for him to speak.

"Yea, I got it." As I release him, he jumps to his feet, as if expecting more violence. I extend my arm out toward him to shake. He slowly reaches out to shake my hand with a smile on his face. Needless to say, there were no more 2 am booty calls when I was in the room.

II. Q-Tips

"Do you care if I show you?"

"Of course I care. I don't want to see that shit," I say.

"Come on, just look at it for me. I'm worried about it," PIMP says.

"If you are that worried about it, then go the Health Center. There is no way I am looking at your dick." My roommate is what many people would call a player. He has a different girl every night, sometimes more than one at a time. As his roommate, who sees a lot, sometimes more than I want to, I don't understand how he manages to attract so many women. His 5'7'' frame tops out at 130 pounds soaking wet, and his extremely thin build gives him the impression of having a six-pack. He can stand in front of a mirror and flex his stomach muscles for hours, smiling and winking at himself in the process. Maybe it is his personality. Regardless of what it is that makes girls want to sleep with him, he is extremely worried today. So worried in fact, that he is begging me to check his penis for what he so coolly categorizes as the "itchies." Not only am I not aware of what the "itchies" are, but I sure as hell don't want to see them. "Like I said, no way man."

"Will you at least come with me then?"

"Are you serious? For what, moral support?"

"Yea man."

"Fine." If I told you right now that I was expecting to be sitting in the waiting room of the Student Health Center for my roommate to emerge, I would be completely lying to you. This is why when he I see him running out with a look of horror on his face, I burst out laughing. "Shut up man, it's not funny. Let's get the hell out of here," he screamed.

"So what did they say," I ask as we rush out of the building.

"They wanted to stick a Q-tip up my dick man!"

"And you didn't let them?"

"Motherfuck no I didn't! Do you have any idea how much that would hurt?"

"No, and thankfully I don't need to find out. I am a good boy, and use condoms. I thought you could just pee in a cup?"

"Yea, you can, but for $120 per test. Do you have any idea how broke I would be after I got out of there?"

"I have a pretty good idea," I say, still laughing hysterically.

"Fuck you," he says. With that, he starts jogging away from me, and my laughter is lost behind him.

III. Gatorade bottles

"What the hell is that thing?"

"It's my water bong," PIMP says proudly.

"No it's not. It's an empty Gatorade bottle full of dirty water."

"Fuck you Forbes, I'm going to go blaze. Wanna come?"

"No thanks, I'm good." His contraption is made from a 32 ounce Gatorade bottle with a small hole cut into the top of it. In this hole PIMP stuck a small bottle cap stuffed with his weed. Forgive me if this description is either invalid or brief. I have never been a drug user, so I guess I find my roommate's drug addiction rather interesting. Every day, about 6 or 7 times a day PIMP brings his homemade bong into the bathroom directly across from our room. According to him, this place is a pot smoker's haven. All this bathroom has is a sink and a tub, equipped with a vent on the ceiling. PIMP enters the room, closes the door behind him and takes a big hit from his bong. When he is ready, he blows the smoke into the vent above his head. No one finds out about the smoke, and he gets as high as a kite. A perfect combination. PIMP even invites his friends over to smoke before or after class. They all agree that this is the perfect place to smoke. I guess it gets lonely in there with just marijuana to talk to.

III. Mixing Shit

Every Thursday night here at Plattsburgh State is Nugget Night at the infamous Little Al's. Little Al's is a dining hall open until 2am during the week. PIMP and I always meet here at 10pm every Thursday for nuggets. "I'm telling you Forbes, there is nothing like these nuggets with a good clambake," he always says. On this Thursday, PIMP was late. I wait 10 minutes, then 15, and finally 20 minutes go by and I take out my phone to call PIMP. "Hello," answers an unfamiliar voice.

"Who is this? Where's PIMP?"

"This is Jackass. PIMP is here passed out on the floor at 126 Margaret." I hang up the phone and sprint down the stairs and run to the dirtiest apartment I have ever seen. I enter the front door to find a heavyset guy with a stamp and a money box standing right in the way.

"$2 to get in, $5 to drink," he tells me.

"I just gotta check on my friend. I'll be right out."

"No way dude, if you don't pay, you don't party."

"Listen to me fat ass, I don't want to party, I just need to check on my friend inside. Now move out of the way and let me inside."

"Fuck you, get out of here. Now you can't come in," he says childishly. I give him a quick punch in his gut, and he drops to his knees. I easily walk by him to the center of the party, where I find PIMP on the floor, people dancing and smoking pot all around him.

I look around at the people in the room and find the closest stoner. "What happened to him?" It turns out that the stoner I picked to talk to was the same Asshole who answered his phone.

"He mixed some shit," he says laughingly.

"What the fuck does that mean. What shit?"

"He took some ex, and then drank a 40."

"And when he passed out, you fucking idiots didn't think about calling an ambulance or anything?"

"Hey man, it's not our fault," asshole replied.

"Fuck you it's not." I pick up PIMP's limp body in my arms, and carry his 130 pounds out the same way I came, stepping over fat ass on the way.

I pull out my cell phone and dial 911, putting PIMP on the grass. "My friend took some ecstasy and mixed it with a lot of alcohol. We are at 465 Lincoln Street here in the Burgh."

"All right sir, I need you to tell me if he is still breathing." I bend over and put my head to his chest, and I feel a heart beat.

"Yes, he is breathing."

"Okay, I'm sending an ambulance right away." Exactly 7 minutes later, an ambulance arrives and I stand and watch as the EMTs put his unconscious body onto a backboard. I follow them as they climb into the back of the ambulance.

"You can't come with us, but you can meet us there," one of the men tells me.

"No way, I am not leaving him." Halfway through the 5 minute trip to the hospital, he regains consciousness and begins to hyperventilate.

"He's going into shock," one EMT says to the other. He pulls out a needle and sticks PIMP with something that immediately puts him back to sleep.

Once we get to the hospital, they wheel him into the ER and I follow them as closely as I can. An extremely old nurse stops me before I follow them into his room, and asks me for some personal information. I tell her his name, and his Mother's phone number that I retrieve from his cell phone.

"What is going to happen to him?"

"He needs to get his stomach pumped," she says.

About 2 hours later, an attractive nurse who I am sure PIMP would have made a comment about comes out to talk to me about his condition.

"He's fine, but very tired and weak. We'll keep him here overnight to make sure he gets enough rest." I call his mom after I am given his diagnosis, and tell her what I know.

"Thank you J. I'll be there in an hour," his mother tells me. Once she gets there, she gives me a big hug as a thank you, but is speechless. I say goodbye to her, and watch as she goes into PIMP's hospital room. I peer in through the window to see her leaning over his body, shedding tears of joy that he was okay. At this point, I think about calling the Police, but out of respect I leave that decision to PIMP.

It turns out that PIMP thought he was really close with all of these kids that were at the party. He never thought that they would just laugh and continue to party with him on the ground in front of them. "PIMP, you really gotta give this shit a rest man. You really scared your mom this time."

"I know man, I'm done for good."

"Awesome, can we sell all the weed you have stashed in that tackle box in your closet?"

"Hell no man. Leave the helpless weed out of this. What did the poor little Buds ever do to you? I'm done with everything but weed." I laugh a little, and roll my eyes at him.

"Thanks Forbes, for everything."

"You bet buddy, just don't do it again."

IV. Today

Today, nearly 2 years later, PIMP and I are still very close, although we know longer live together, and haven't since our freshman year. We don't really hang out that much either, but I know that if I ever make a really bad decision, he will be there to make sure I make it through. After all, that's what friends are for, right?