College is a strange time for people. Some people are figuring out how to be adults. Most haven’t even started worrying about it. Certain kids I saw on campus looked like they were fresh out of a middle school, while others were already bald (I still think about that guy).
I’ve never seen such a mix of people in one area before and the amount of dumb shit that resulted from it is astounding. Whoever thought it was a good idea to group thousands of young adults in a small area should be forced to live with them for a year. I never knew how dumb people could be until I lived on-campus and I worked in retail. My freshman hall went through at least 3 microwaves at the expense of finding out what happens when you let metal get hit by magnets or whatever the hell makes microwaves work.
I have plenty of stories about college, but only one captured the essence of love in a single night.
For background, I lived in a hall with suites; basically a common room and bathroom with four rooms connected to them. I lived with some athletes, stoners, and a really strange kid. However, the stars of this short tale are not us, but the room across from us.
Room 707 was a girls suite and housed 8 girls who all had a variation of “Taylor” for names. It was spooky. I don’t think any of them were named Taylor, rather names like Taylah and Tally. When they introduced themselves to our suite, I just assumed there had been one girl named Taylor in the room that had control over them all, but that was just a theory.
Anyways, these girls were fairly…recyclable. Not quite trashy, but from a distance its hard to tell the difference. Loud, drunk, they garnered a lot of attention from other guys. None of the trashiness mattered as long as they were willing to date/screw guys. The college that I went to had an extremely poor guy to girl ratio, so finding a group of girls was difficult enough. Just being a girl and conscious made you at least a 7 at our school. It was rumored that we were an all-guy school with a couple of cross -dressing students. I have never seen an almost all guy yoga class before, but the disappointment combined with testosterone was palpable.
So a poor girl to guy ratio combined with a room full of recyclable girls, its like a perfect storm of drama.
Among the Taylor ranks, one rose above the rest over time. I’ll call her Taylor because I cannot remember what her real one was. Taylor was fairly cute and extremely social. She barged into my suite on the first day to talk everyone up and personally invite her whole suite to ours. At the party she was all over everyone yet had a vibe of just friendliness at the same time. I don’t think I had ever met a blackout drunk that was so accommodating and friendly. They usually just say that they’re too drunk and pass out in our trashcan.
Anyways Taylor garnered a lot of attention that night along with the rest of the Taylor squad.
Every weekend after, gentleman callers would slip into the suite at various times of the day. I’m talking like 5-8 a day. Our suite would call out which lady he was whispering poetry and propose dowries for their hands. It became a game.
“Hey jack-o-lantern head is back again for Tay-tay no doubt.”
“Nah man I heard he’s with Tyalor (sic) now”
We were in no way trying to shame them, but man was it a drama fest. I have seen more fights occurring in that hallway between 707 and our room than I’ve seen in a Pay Per View Special. A couple times the fight would spill into our room and I can assure you that restraining a 6 foot 4 football player with a blood alcohol content of 1.00 is difficult when you’re fresh out of the shower.
Taylor ruled over the rest of them though and accepted nearly every challenger.
That one Taylor was essentially the Helen of Troy to the campus. The wars with the victor stumbling into her room to receive their prize. It was a weekly event.However there was one night that was different.
One of my roommates was on lookout, ready to call if any drama was about to unfold, and suddenly noticed an unfamiliar face.
He called from the door, “How often does a ginger kid with an under-bite come by?”
My mind instantly raced with a sea of faces, but none quite matched. He didn’t seem like someone who frequented the 707 girls.
“Oh God he brought flowers what the hell.”
Everyone within earshot in our suite rushed to the door, peaking through any crevice we could see through. Our giggling was only stifled by our curiosity.
When I managed to sneak a peek at him, I recognized him and horror began to fill my chest. I knew him. He was a kid in my Actuarial Math class. I’ll just say that kids in those classes were not exactly studs, myself included. He was so out of his league he was in a different sport. He was so out of place he was in orbit. He was so not supposed to be there that he shouldn’t have been there.
I later learned that he had been in a group project with her and her constant flirting was taken the wrong way. No one knows how he found out where she lived. He was pacing back and forth, doing some last second integrals to check his chances.
To everyone’s horror/humor, a basketball player shoved him aside and went into 707’s suite. The contrast between athlete and actuary was staggering. These were two people who did not even acknowledge each other’s existence in college.
We could see him rethinking his plans, fighting with his doubts. I could gauge what he was thinking pretty well.
“That guy was going to see a different girl in the suite. Taylor is different. She likes me.”
That poor man.
After about five minutes, he did it.
Without so much as a knock, he went in. I could not see what was happening, but I could hear yelling and screaming almost immediately. The guy had barged in on her and the basketball player practicing the pelvic heimlich maneuver.
He dropped the flower and bolted out. Taylor ran to the door to scream at him and the basketball player chased after him. I have no clue what the two did, but neither came back that night.
Taylor was still butt naked and every one of my roommates could not keep quiet witnessing nature in all its beauty. Her gaze shifted to our door and we bolted to our on rooms within the suite.
We all waited a bit before we heard her door close and I slowly came back out to check if anything else would happen. I was surprised to see that the basketball player never returned, but a new challenger, a lacrosse player came in nearly 20 minutes later to, I can only extrapolate here, finish what the basketball player had started.
I don’t know what lesson I should have learned from this situation. College love does not exist. Yet at the same time, the confidence and determination of the Math Man were commendable. In the end, it was the man who waited who got the prize, not the romantic or the first-comer (ha).
College is weird.