1) - the idea of living in Arlington, TX. I think I would rather live in a broken 1986 Pontiac Fiero in Houston than live in Arlington. With a Fiero roommate.
2) - I had to wear pleated slacks in my dream and the computer I was using was the size of a pocket watch. And they monitored porn.
3) - my boss, Mr. Dobbins, kept sexually harassing me and pinching my ass and calling me "buns".
I was reading an article this morning in the Chicago Tribune about the fall ritual of freshmen heading off to college for the first time. I have to admit, part of me was a little jealous. College was awesome. Some of the article was about parents who get all sad and suicidal and start cutting themselves and stuff when their kid leaves the roost. But since I was the last of 4 to leave for college and my mom had essentially packed my room 5 months prior to my departure, I had a hard time relating. After driving 6 hours through miserable heat in a jet black Ford Bronco loaded to the rafters with clothes, bikes, golf clubs and assorted weapons, I finally arrived at my new dorm. And I met my roommate for the first time. A scholar from Mexia, Texas named Jeb Scarborough. I vividly recall my first encounter with Jeb: when I walked into the room Jeb was sitting in our room with a pinch of Copenhagen the size of a donkey turd in his lip, lace-up ropers, very very very tight Wrangler's, one of those cardboard dust popper shirts that contains enough starch to kill an elephant, a belt buckle that doubled as a man hole cover and a 10-gallon cowboy hat on.
Tyler: Hey man, I'm Tyler.
Jeb: God dammit, I got a fucking roommate?
Tyler: Uhmm. Can I put my stuff over here?
Jeb: I gotta go take a shit.
I'm not kidding. That was our first conversation. And our last. I also remember Jeb had very few belongings in his corner of the room. Long story long, I unpacked my stuff, put my things away and pinned my Blossom poster to my wall. Jeb never came back in that day and I left to go meet friends. Cut to 8 hours later: I walk in my room around midnight . . . Jeb is passed out in his bed and there is a LARGE drunk fucking cowboy passed out in my bed, empty Natural Lights cans covered the floor and there was evidence that someone had been cutting the cheese. The cowboy was in my bed. NOT on my bed, in my bed and under the covers of my new Corvette sheets. The room smelled like a cross between a burnt out clutch and the bottom of a spit cup with some manure overtones. I tried to wake up Big Tex a few times but when he looked at me through his whiskey-lined eyes and told me if I woke him up again he was going to beat with a lead pipe or something, I took the bait. I ended up sleeping down the hall. I'm a pussy, but he was big. And mad. And drunk. And not bright.
The next morning, I go back and all of Jeb's crap is gone . . . and there was dirt in my sheets from the large cowboy's filthy boots. I would also venture to guess he left several of his Frito Pie-laced farts swimming around in my mattress. After asking the RA what happened to Jeb a day or two later, I was told he hadn't been in school for 2 semesters and was "squatting" in the dorms. Yes, SQUATTING. I guess they kicked him out. I never saw him again but still miss his scent on rainy nights.
And that was my first night in college. Thank you Texas Tech.
God bless you Jeb. And God bless you giant filthy stinky fucking cowboy shithead.
College still was fun as hell.
GO WORLD!
Tyler
