You Might Be A Problem Drinker.
During my sophomore year, I’d settled into a rhythm: drink on Tuesdays, Fridays and Saturdays, and sometimes on Sunday afternoons. Drink other nights if anything at all was happening. And drink if nothing was happening, but only if someone else was willing to drink, too.
It was this schedule that motivated my psychic change from someone who cared a little about the people around me to a full-blown jerk who wanted to have “fun” no matter who got hurt in the process.
Part of my issue was that I had gained no social skills growing up, so I had no ability to express myself properly. When I was raging drunk, if I wasn’t busy dancing and feeling accepted, I spewed venom on everyone in my vicinity – especially my roommate.
Donna was my best friend and we could hardly wait to room together sophomore year. We spent a ton of time together freshman year and knew that our living styles were similar. Neither of us expected to end up in the Office of the Dean, seeking mediation for our relationship issues.
Dean Dorothy Davis was a campus legend. Being called into her office terrified me.
The dean listened to us talk about our problems. Donna and I tried to be nice to one another, because we really liked each other. But we were obviously both furiously frustrated.
Donna thought my problem was a lack of food. She told Dean Davis that I was constantly starving myself and … “I hate to say it, but when she’s on a diet she’s just a bitch.”
And I was on a diet all the time. I was constantly worried about my weight (128 pounds). I drank beer instead of eating most of the time, but when I ate it was usually candy bars and pizza. Honestly, though, dieting wasn’t my problem.
I thought Donna’s problem was stress or boredom, maybe both. Donna seemed to do only boring things, like watching TV and studying, even when I wanted to drink. I told Dean Davis that if Donna would spend more time having fun and less time worrying about stupid stuff, we’d both be fine.
Dean Davis asked us if we drank alcohol. She asked about the parties we attended, what else we did together, what we did when we were apart. We told her as little as possible to avoid getting into trouble, but we were honest enough to let her know that we were pretty typical college kids.
That’s when the dean leaned forward in her chair over her giant administrative desk and looked directly at me.
“You might be a problem drinker,” she said.
“A problem drinker?” I asked. “What is that? Is that like an alcoholic?”
“Not necessarily,” she said. “But it might be a step toward becoming an alcoholic unless you do something differently. You might want to be careful.”
“I am always careful,” I said, not understanding a word she said. “And I will continue to be careful.”
I am sure I believed this with my whole heart, but I had no idea with what I was supposed to be careful.
Eventually Dean Davis sent Donna and me on our way with a plan to cooperate, communicate and cohabitate more effectively. Somehow by junior year, Donna was still ready to get as far away from me as possible.