We Played This Game on Asphalt.
I went to The Hood regularly – several times a week, in fact – so it’s interesting that I remember certain happenings on the way to/from the bar.
One night, for example, practically the entire first floor of my dorm left a party together – and hitchhiked to The Hood. Hitchhiking was not in vogue; the seventies were over. But we had such a large group, we felt safe.
I don’t think anyone was expecting a ride, but someone with a pickup truck actually pulled over for the lot of us and we all piled into the cargo bed. Then at the bar, which was maybe a mile away, we all clambered back out again. It was a story we planned to tell our grandchildren.
Another time, I left The Hood and headed back toward campus when a bunch of us decided to play “chicken” – that crazy game played in swimming pools, where two people climb up on two others’ shoulders and try to knock each other off with a huge splash into the water.
We played this game on asphalt.
I climbed up onto Joel’s shoulders – a beefy guy who had graduated at least two years before the game of chicken. He was bouncing up and down and swinging me around; I was flailing rather aimlessly when suddenly Joel reared up like a horse, throwing me off his shoulders and onto the pavement behind him.
I landed on my back with a horrifying crack, which caused Joel to laugh like a hyena before leaving me lying there, stunned, as he lumbered away.
Joel was not a very nice person.
I don’t remember standing up or walking home, or if anyone helped me get there. I don’t even remember needing help.
But I remember waking up the next morning. My head hurt something fierce, and I couldn’t move my arm. I spent that Saturday in the hospital getting x-rays and a sling.
I had dislocated my shoulder. I’d been so drunk, I hadn’t even known I’d been hurt.
I spent a long time in that sling. I have pictures from a toga party where I’m wearing the sling, so I guess dislocating my shoulder in a drunken stupor did nothing to slow my drinking.
I also recall post-Hood riding with a bunch of recent graduates to a dark cabin at least an hour from campus, just to drink more. It was freezing cold and pitch black (no electricity) – but we stayed and drank beer anyway, then drove back to campus before sunrise.
I don’t know who those people were. No one was sober so the fact that we all lived through the round trip is just a miracle. Thank you, God.
A few times, we went to an elementary school and rode the world-famous “alligator swing” which was really just a playground with a long swing that held a slew of people. I wish I could have ridden that swing sober, but I don’t know where it is. The alligator swing was incredibly fun – probably even more so for children than for drunk college students.
Once I went four-wheeling in the snow with complete strangers. On active train tracks. This was my favorite post-Hood activity ever.
I am sincerely lucky to be alive.
Another time the girls and I – whichever girls were there – recited and sang the entire soundtrack to Grease on the way back to our dorm. I am not sure we did it well, or remembered any words, or even sang in tune.
But we sure did have a good time.