Weekend At Bard
I made my first and most memorable trip to Bard College in the fall of ’05. It was me and a group of seven other people, bringing only the clothes on our backs, some junk food and excessive amounts of alcohol, cannibis and, for the more experimental of my friends, mushrooms. The trip itself took three hours from 9pm to a little after midnight, but when we got there we left one hell of a first impression. Within minutes, we were flanked by the Bard rent-a-cops, Observe and Report-style. I was already drinking when I got out of the car so they took the bottle out of my hand. Luckily, I still had a six-pack in the car.
Anyway, by some miracle, they don’t notice the beer and drugs in the truckbed of my friend’s pick-up, so I stashed my six pack behind a tree (another event they were completely clueless about). We go in, sign a sheet, listen to the whole “This is a dry campus… blah blah” speech and meet our friend Bill at his “dorm.”
This “dorm” was actually a shitty house made even shittier by his hippie/bohemian-ish lifestyle – Bard’s kind of an artsy place. So Bill has a bunch of hot girls over and we all proceed to get wrecked. Fast forward to four in the morning (I’ll leave it to your imagination how some of us spent our time with the girls). I come downstairs and see my friend Joe is completely trashed. He can barely stand up and every sentence out of his mouth is morphed into a single, drunken slurred word (ala “fuggedaboutit” except less Italian). He says what I think is, “Let’s go outside” and I practically carry him out the door to a random building a quarter mile away. It was outside under the streetlight that I notice, for reasons that I’m still fuzzy about, Joe is wearing a girls T-shirt and a skirt. I start laughing my ass off and Joe sneaks into the building (Bard’s security was batting 1000 that night).
I’m getting a dinner of Chex Mix and Doritos from the vending machine when Joe comes back downstairs, dripping blood… from his ass. “What the fuck happened, dude?” I said, in between laughs.
“Itriedtophotocopymyass.” Joe slurred.
Let me explain this a little better. Joe’s a short guy. He’s only 5′ 4” so he literally had to jump onto that copier. I hope that clears things up. Now the twist is that we can’t go to the infirmary because: 1. The stench of booze is a dead giveaway that we’re drunk. 2. Bill would be expelled if he allowed his guests to get drunk in a campus house. 3. Bill was already on academic probation.
We make it back to the house and I have the hilarious task of waking up Sam, Bill’s roommate, and telling him that Joe’s ass was bleeding and he needed help. Sam’s an EMT so he knew what he was doing. Everyone (myself included) was laughing/getting grossed out when we saw what was going on. Picture Sam, groggy and only slightly less drunk than Joe was, reaching forward and pulling shards of glass out of Joe’s asscheeks.
Joe was gauzed up by the next morning and I’d passed out on the couch sometime during this. But my other friend Jim summed it up perfectly to Joe so I’m just going to quote him here. “Damn, Joe, it’s never a good thing when you wake up in women’s clothes with blood on your ass.”
Day two is coming next week, but in the meantime, send in your best drunken adventure to Jcastrillon87@yahoo.com Who knows? Someone could be reading about your funny story instead.