The last thing I recall dreaming of was standing on a balcony and letting loose a stream of urine so powerful it would make those schmucks in the 1960s Birmingham Police Department want more powerful hoses.
I immediately wake up and notice a warm feeling slowly encompassing my entire lower region. Not a pleasant warm feeling, like the kind you experience when you watch military homecoming videos on YouTube or get a “just got me period” text.
I was in the process of pissing the bed.
I struggle to stand up and get out of bed. The first three things I notice:
1. I am in someone else’s apartment.
2. I am fully dressed.
3. I just pissed a girl’s bed — that she is still soundly sleeping in.
Fuck. I’m not really sure how to progress from here, and am also feeling the unbearable sting that comes with stopping mid-piss. What’s worse? I’m seconds away from letting loose again.
I stumble into the connecting bathroom and feel immediate relief as I empty what used to be a fifth of Evan Williams into her sink. After addressing the immediate issue of having a piss geyser in my pants, I attempt to craft a detailed account of my situation. My pants are soaked to the point that the side of my shirt is wet; there is no way any of it either dries or, even if it does, smells good. I have to leave immediately.
I run out the door faster than I did that one time I accidentally went to a FIJI rush event. I close the door behind me as lightly as possible.
It’s 4:30 a.m., 15 degrees out, and pretty much blizzarding. My phone is dead, and the only thing in my wallet is a wet-with-piss $5 Canadian. I have to make a decision: either I go back inside and face the embarrassment and ridicule, or I make the half mile run down a very public road to one of our houses, soaking wet, in this weather.
I do what any sane person would do in my situation: go back inside, snag her iPhone charger, and begin sprinting down the road like there was an open bar at the end of it.
Turns out a half mile is a lot farther now than it was back in high school. About a minute in, I’m spent. I’m standing on the side of the road shivering, my wet pants literally beginning to freeze solid. This is how I die, I think to myself. I accept this presumed reality scarily quickly, making me think I’ve actually begun to believe all the early death jokes people make at my expense.
I sit down and begin to think about my life. I’d heard freezing to death was a lot like falling asleep; you just feel tired and close your eyes as your body shuts down. I begin to feel my eyelids get heavy, and my hands and feet were beginning to feel like they were in boiling water. Right as I begin to lay down on the sidewalk in the fetal position to leave this world the same way I entered it, I look across the street. Is that one of the SAE houses?
I get up faster than an 18-year-old on Cialis. I cross the street. Yes, this is definitely their house. I can see a little Phi Alpha peeking through the window. I then remember the Kappa bar night two weekends before. Well, at least the discussion about it at chapter. We are not on good terms with SAE. I would essentially be asking to get my ass kicked walking in like this. They will neither find this amusing nor be compassionate. Time for Plan D. I know there is a pledge driving a brother to the airport very early this morning; if I can find an outlet and charge my phone just long enough to make a phone call before I freeze to death, I’m home free.
I begin skulking around the outside of their house. I feel like a Navy SEAL, but I look like an escaped mental patient. Basement door spotted: it is unlocked. I open the door slowly, but of course it is one of those really fucking squeaky doors. I walk into the dark basement and can’t see shit. I begin feeling up the wall next to the door with less coordination and competency than a blind man at a midget strip club.
Somehow, I manage to snag the light switch. Except its not a light switch — it’s a generic electrical switch. The basement suddenly has an epilepsy attack-inducing white strobe eruption and scream metal begins blasting. What the fuck have these SAEs been up to? To make matters worse, I hear very angry and very awake people upstairs.
I can either bolt out and hope I don’t die in the cold, or try to hide in the basement and hope I don’t die at the hands of these screamo-loving SAEs. I go with the latter, as I prefer not to die a piss-flavored popsicle if things go awry. I close the basement door behind me, and use the light from the strobe to make it toward a trashcan in the back corner in which to hide. I am human garbage at this point, so it’s very fitting. I make it to the trashcan, throw the lid off, and… it’s not empty. It’s not trash that’s in it, but an indescribable mix of yellow, brown, red, and green sludge. I hear footsteps on the stairs — I have no choice. I step in and pull the lid over my head.
I feel the sludge begin to pour over the top of my boots and penetrate my socks. It is thick and cold, and smells like shit. I hear the door swing open and begin to have the same feeling of inevitably being found like I did playing hide-and-seek in the first grade. Somehow, I also feel the need to piss again. I have no idea how it is possible, considering I just peed out 5 weeks worth of pee less than a half hour ago. There is no way I could’ve possibly consumed this much volume of any liquid. I’m convinced my body is just trying to fuck me over for the hell I consistently put it through, and I don’t blame it.
The music goes off. I hear footsteps walking throughout the basement. Then nothing. I have to piss so badly. I wait. And I wait. I cannot let there be any chance I am not alone when I emerge from this hellhole. I have no idea how much time has passed. Feels like hours, probably less than a minute. I slide the lid off. The retard that came down — and had left — left the strobe on.
Quick aside: SAE nationals, ending pledging nationally does not do anyone but you any favors. It just makes pledging go even more underground and be less regulated. It fucks things up for everyone. And I feel like I just made it through one of your chapter’s basement nights, so I believe I am qualified to speak on this matter.
I run across the basement back to the switch, my boots squishing every step of the way. I follow the switch down to a power supply unit. I plug the charger and my phone in, and miraculously that beautiful little white apple shows up immediately. I text the pledge, “Need ride now. Will literally drop you if you’re not here in 5. I’ll drop a pin. Text me when you’re outside. Do not call. Text me.”
A minute later I get a fucking Facetime from the pledge. WHAT THE FUCK?! I decline it as fast as possible, hoping my new “brothers” upstairs do not hear. I run out to the road and get in the car.
Me: Why the fuck did you fucking Facetime me?
Pledgefuck: Brother Pledge Master said no matter what we are told, we always have to Facetime. “If we don’t have the courage to talk face-to-face now, how can we expect to earn anyone’s respect?” he said.
Me: Fuck, I don’t even care anymore. Bring me home.
Five minutes later, I’m ripping my soaked clothes off and getting into the shower. Getting out of the shower and seeing the soaked khakis and blue oxford on my floor, I get the best idea I’ve had while (mostly) sober in years.
I throw on another pair of khakis and a blue shirt. I request an Uber, and, by the grace of God, there is one literally 2 minutes away. $7.50 later and I’m back in the apartment complex I had ran out of what seems like decades ago. It’s about 5 a.m. now. I let myself back into her apartment and sneak past her roommate’s door. I sit down on the bed very gently as not to wake her. I quickly sit up and move the bed as much as possible to make sure she wakes up.
Me: Oh, what the fuck! Is that piss?!
Her: Oh my God, this can’t be happening!
Me: Nah, sorry, I overreacted. It’s not a big deal; it happens.
I think to myself, “This is unbelievable; its actually going to work!”
Her: No. No. You can’t be serious right now.
Me: Don’t worry, it happens! I won’t tell anyone, I swear.
I lean in for a kiss that I hope will lead to a little round 2 action.
Her: No, asshole. You can’t be serious about blaming this on me. I saw you leave an hour ago soaking wet.
Me: Oh. Oops. My bad.
Me: Speaking of soaking wet…
Her: GET OUT..