But before I get into that, I've had a bit of an epiphany.
As my time here as lengthened, I've begun to realize that independent junior boarding schools, or at least this one, more or less seem like a year-long summer camp of sorts.
Since the beginning of the school year (a post-Labor Day September 4 start), we've had around an entire month off. Obviously this is broken up primarily by the major holidays, Christmas & Thanksgiving, but it also doesn't include the amount of half-days there are. We've had five.
Now, you've read that I supplement my income by making airport runs. Ferrying international students or ones that live in farther away states can get me $25 an hour. But I've started to see a pattern. If the vacation is longer than two days or so, plus the half day before the day off, then the international students typically leave a day early, thus nullifying any educational experience they might have. Even a lot of the day students, the majority of kids at the school, will leave early to vacation. The Bermudian contingent consists of about six students and they have flown home three or four times.
I live an hour and a half from New Hampshire and have been home only twice. Gas is about $2 a gallon and plane tickets are, well, plane tickets. We're talking about some serious money these kids have.
This past weekend was President's Day and as usual, my school had Monday and Tuesday off with a half day Friday. I volunteered to take the Bermudians to the airport bright and early, a couple kids to the bus stop and then I was off to the town of Bristol Connecticut to hang out with a college roommate Chris. A hasty decision was made midweek to travel to Siena for Friday night to see his brother's band play in the miniscule townhouse living room.
Before I left though, I had some work to do.
For those who have seen me, or recent pictures on Facebook know that my excursion into bearded life came to an unfortunate end after over a month of having hair covering most of my face. I was trimming with an electric razor because it looked a bit sloppy and got a little too close for comfort. Instead of walking around with a bald spot on my cheek, I decided that it was time for a change. I shaved a goatee for the week prior to the Casino Bonanza Weekend (see: Here Comes the Mohegan Sun.), but wanted to try something out for Friday night back at college.
Here is the result:
On the list with Kashi cereal, gefilte fish, watching CSI: Miami, listening to Metallica, driving anywhere without a GPS or precise directions, file this under 'Things To Never Try Again'.
We arrived at Siena after dark, picking up an uber-healthy meal of Wendy's dollar menu items and a Bud Light tall boy. Our night was well on its way.
The band arrived a few hours later, set up shop and played a great packed show. Some highlights of the night include, but are not limited to:
-18 30-packs of Keystone Light are over and done with a little after midnight
-Three high school girls were at the party brought by a freshmen baseball player. They had homeroom earlier that day.
-During a jovial wrestling between friends, someone is shoved into the spackled hole by the door, creating an even bigger one. I chuckle because I neither have to fix it, nor pay for it.
-Former roommate Rick shows up and at six-foot-six is far and away the tallest person at the party.
-Jake and Chris realize they are wearing the same thermal shirt purchased from Gap, but in different colors. They high-five.
-Chris and I play "Long Black Veil" to a sea of drunken, rowdy college students who don't know who we are, why we are at the microphone or what song we're singing.
-Random stranger enthusiastically compliments me on my harmonica playing. I uneasily thank her.
-Fistfight between girlfriend of lead guitarist and her friends, and members of the softball team spontaneously breaks out. (Aftermath: softball girl receives split lip needing five stitches.) No Jell-O was involved.
-Threat of security intervention prompts band to shut down the concert. I laugh again that I have literally no responsibility concerning the party or party-goers outside of myself.
-Once dry floor turns into a kiddie pool o' cheap beer.
-Somehow, someone starts ripping out pieces of the couch filling turning the downstairs into a shitty winter wonderland.
-Chris wakes up in the sophomore dorm.
The morning after we spent the better part of an hour and a half sitting in the dining hall surrounded by college students and their parents, recounting the night loudly with cursing and more offensive language and references. We headed back to the house where the stale beer and the heat pumping from the vent combined to make a nauseating downstairs living room. As the guys who lived there used a snow shovel to pick up the beer cans (seriously, a shovel), we concluded that our invitation had run its course and spending another night there would be a poor investment. We pulled away from campus shuddering at the fact that they had to live, sleep, eat, use the facilities, party and do homework in that place.
...for the rest of the year.
The drive home was spent listening to good music, trying to shake that hangover/vomiting feeling out of my body and figuring out what was on the agenda for that night. Ruling out Bristol, we decided that Chris's little brother, who we just saw the night before, would be getting another visit from his older brother and grown-up friend at Quinnipiac.
Two college experiences in two consecutive days.
The drive to QU was much shorter and when we arrived a decision was made for us to go to Toad's Place, a New Haven venue that was both a refuge for underage drinking/general mayhem and a spot where The Rolling Stones, U2, Bob Dylan, Muddy Waters, John Lee Hooker, Black Crowes and Billy Joel once played.
The plan was to pregame at a friend's apartment then pick up the QU shuttle (they bring you to the bar?! for free?) into New Haven. What made the semi-sober 20 minute journey fathomable was a good conversation and the fact that until 11:30, the upstairs portion of Toad's sold dollar beers. And apart from free, penny, nickel or quarter beers, dollar brews ain't too shabby.
Little did I realize, however, that my high spirits would soon come crashing down into a pitfall of shame and embarrassment.
I was literally steps away from the three bouncers outside when I opened my wallet and, to my utter horror and dismay, did not see my ID in its designated spot. My eyes widened. I frantically searched my pockets only to find a QU card. This isn't happening, I thought.
"Chris, tell me you have my ID..." I asked in desperation.
He gave me back the are-you-kidding-me?-you-really-don't-have-your-fucking-ID? look. Nowhere to be found.
After talking it out, I realized I left it in my jacket.
...all the way back at QU.
So there I was, without my license outside a bar that I had every legal and legitimate right to enter.
Fuck.
My night was over. I was in the worst mood, completely awed that I would ever not put my license back in my wallet. This was an example of idiocy in its peak form.
I pleaded a little, but there wasn't much I could do. I graduated college, I said to myself. I have a paying job. I wear a tie every day!
There wasn't anything I could do. Chris's little brother Ryan had an idea though. He told me to get in for 19.
Luckily I still carry my Siena ID, just in case these occasions arise. So I pulled it out and with the most unsatisfied, pissed-off face begrudgingly gave him my left hand to which he drew the underage scarlet letter 'X'.
I shook my head.
"You know I'm a salaried teacher..." I wanted to tell him.
I paid the three dollars and Ryan pulled me in.
"Here's what we're gonna do..."
Being the crafty college student and most recent 20 year old that he is, Toad's is a place he's quite familiar sneaking into. We exchanged shirts and I scrubbed the hell out of my hand, taking care of the black marker. He then handed me his ID and instructed me to walk out the side door, down the block to a pizza joint, wait about 10 minutes and get back in line.
It was only February of the first year of my life as a grown-up and I had hit rock bottom. This was by far the most embarrassing thing that's happened to me this year. Sure I probably said some stupid shit while drinking and know I've tried to dance when it wasn't funny or appropriate or gotten lost numerous times with my students, but this trumped all.
I, as a 22 year old college graduate who has his own apartment, cooks his own food occasionally, is responsible for the well-being of middle schoolers, coaches a basketball team, was using a fake ID to get into a bar. The lowest of the low.
What's worse is that the panic creeped back into my body. A panic I hadn't felt since before I went to Ireland when I was 20. The feeling that I was doing something very wrong and that I'd be caught. That cop's gonna recognize me, I thought. No way this will work. The crushing doubt I used to feel feebly passing the bouncer a fake ID when I was in college was back. Shit I can't do this.
A quick pep talk from Ryan and a phone call to my best friend to obscure the right side of my face later, I handed the bouncer Ryan's ID and got in. I kept my composure until I paid another three dollars and was strapped with a bracelet.
I made it.
Toad's is a place where one could get in a loottt of trouble. Here are some highlights:
-Get in for underage.
-Sneak back in using fake ID of junior in college.
-Curse myself and my forgetfulness.
-Walk to upstairs bar where dollar beers are purveyed.
-Along with friends, purchase 20.
-See what the commotion is and wander over to find two very drunk people on leather snuggling, possibly having sex. (It's 10:00.)
-Laugh at how stupid they are.
-Remembered I had to sneak into the bar. Stop laughing.
-Juiced up meatheads probably from NJ grunt and yell and hug each other upstairs.
-11:30 rolls around, we head downstairs. Techno is raging, along with strobe lights. I immediately want to leave this area.
-A group of five or so goes to the Jungle Room. This is a bar with fake plants and green paint. Very jungley. They sell cans, not bottles of Bud Light.
-When acting out a joke, I accidentally bump into a much shorter QU girl. I apologize and she starts an arguments. Because she sucks.
-Argument continues.
-Girl mentions something about her high GPA. Chris confidently asserts: "You could not beat me in a game of Jeopardy."
-Girl rebuts; Chris tells her to come over his house Monday night to watch the show.
-Girl further annoys group by talking about becoming a registered nurse and not having any loans out of college because she's a spoiled bitch.
-Near breaking point, I drunkenly shout that I change lives every day being a middle school teacher.
-We exit back through the techno dance floor debacle and go home.
-Someone knocks Ryan's piece of pizza out of his hands, ruining his night.
-I wake up on a couch.
The rest of the weekend entailed catching up with an old friend and seeing my father. My three consecutive day binge drink came to an end. I made the trek homeward and cleaned my apartment. Boxing that night was horrible, probably one of the worst I've ever had. Every punch I ate and wheezy breath I took was a blatant reminder at how much I destroyed my body this weekend. College got the best of me, but I'm glad to know that the girl from Toad's will never beat Chris in Jeopardy.
No comments:
Post a Comment