The Worst Thing I’ve Done at College

In honor of the fact that yesterday I came home from college marking the end of my sophomore year, and in celebration of the fact that I will be procrastinating the two papers I have left to finish over the next few days, I feel it’s time that I tell the story of the worst thing that I’ve done in my career at college. This is not something I’m proud of in the least, but it is undeniably hilarious. Here goes.

This story begins with me being kicked out of a party during the second semester of my freshman year, which wasn’t something that was totally unusual due to the fact that I was frequently caught kicking people out of houses of which I did not live in and did not know the owners nor anyone in any semblance of power, but this one was a little bit different. At the time, I was involved in a relationship, and at this party was the only time that my fidelity was tested. While scrounging around upstairs for a beer that was not lukewarm, I was approached by a young lady who was quite interested in me for whatever reason. I feel like it should also be pointed out that I was not in any way thinking rationally at this point, so hopefully that gives you some clue as to what went into my decision making throughout the rest of this tale. When I told this female that I was not on the market, she was quite persistent that it did not matter, which, as tempting as her horizontally challenged frame made it, did not persuade me. I then made the poor decision to… let’s call it “give her a piece of my mind.” The piece of my mind that I gave her was something along the lines of, “Rot in hell, whore,” followed by some other insults that, admittedly, were a bit extreme. Three of the hosts of the party heard this and politely informed me that it was time for me to leave. I was somewhat well accustomed to being asked to leave at this point in my freshman year, so I headed out on my way home.

You might think that me calling a girl I did not know a whore in front of several people is the worst thing I’ve done (by the way, even though it was a bit extreme, I stand by the fact that she totally had that coming), but you would be wrong in that assumption. The juicy part of this story came on my walk home. As I meandered through the streets of Oakland, headed back toward my dorm on Pitt’s campus, I came across a group of people sitting on their porch. After speaking with them for a bit, I noticed that one of the rocks on their lawn had come loose from the others. I, being the kind, generous guy that I am, offered to take care of it for them. Despite their protests that I really didn’t need to do that, I picked it up and continued my journey home at a bit of a run because I had a few people behind me trying to get their rock back. Oh. I should also tell you that while I’ll always refer to it as a rock, it was really more of a cinderblock. Here’s a picture I took later that night for reference:

What I did next I genuinely do feel bad about. Walking on a street in the dark at about midnight, I saw another person in front of me. Time for a classic prank, I thought to myself.

“Hey!” I yelled out to the guy fifteen yards ahead of me. He turned around trying to figure out which of his friends he’d run into on the street. He soon realized that I was not one of his friends, just a some dickhead freshman with a big rock that he’d never met before. Lifting the rock over my head and grinning from ear to ear for what I thought would be a truly hilarious thing to do, I yelled out to him: “I’m going to kill you with this rock!” and began jogging toward him. I have really never seen a person with more fear in his eyes. I believe that the combination of the enormous rock I had over my head, the darkness, the lack of people around us, and the fact that I had just gotten an awful haircut at SportsClips that made me look like an escaped mental asylum patient all contributed to this kid’s decision to run for his fucking life. I mean he was gone – mother fucker went full on Forrest Gump. 

Later, my friends asked my valid questions like: What if he had a gun? What if someone recognized you doing that? What if he had tried to hurt you because no one in his right mind would have recognized that you were just pulling a “classic prank”? Well, guess what, none of that happened, so who cares. I would like to offer a statement of regret, though, just in case whoever it was that I scared the shit out of is currently reading: I state my regret.

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Written by TFM

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