One night, my roommate-- I'll call her Leigh (the names have been changed to protect the embarrassed) was hanging out in our dorm room with some of our guy friends. Around midnight, I announced that I was going to bed. Leigh sort of rolled her eyes and left with the caravan. I was definitely a social person and enjoyed the company of all of those people- but also rather conservative and straight-laced, and I guess she thought I was a bit of a party pooper. I didn't care, because I thought she was obnoxious and a bit of a loser. Though overall, we got along just fine.
A couple of hours later, I heard something and woke up. It was a Leigh with one of the guys-- let's call him Keith. They were giggling in her bed and making out. Now, normally this would send me into a fit of rage. We (Leigh and I) had actually recently talked about the concept of bringing a guy to your room when your roommate is there and we both agreed that it was so ridiculous it wasn't even worth discussing. It's something that we never would do to one another. I know a lot of people who think all bets are off in college, but we weren't that way. Or at least Leigh pretended to be when we had talked about it.
So anyway, Leigh and Keith are in her bed, and instead of getting up and yelling at them and kicking him out, I remember thinking "whatever", rolling over, and going back to bed and literally not being bothered at all. Looking back, it's so crazy to think that I ever would have reacted that way. I think the gods were looking out for me-- knowing how much I would relish retelling this story for years to come.
A little while later that same night, around 3:30 AM or so, I woke up to the feeling of someone sitting on my legs. It was Keith. He was doubled over and completely out of it-- I had never seen someone so drunk before and rarely have since. I said, "Keith! Keith! Get up! Are you okay? Keith, you have to go back to your room." Keith lived one floor below us. He kind of mumbled back to me. I said, "Keith, do you need me to help you get back to your room?" He said something that approximated "No" and got up. He proceeded to almost make it to the door, but was about six inches too far to the right. He began marching in place into the wall, seemingly perplexed that the wall wasn't opening up and allowing him to leave.
Okay, of the three people who witnessed this next chain of events, I was the only one who was sober. And I remember it very clearly. The other two folks have no recollection of this and I'm sure would like to believe that it never happened. And yet, it did.
Keith walks over to Leigh's bed, where she's sleeping. He stands right by where her head is. And then he starts peeing. I'm not kidding. I start screaming, "Keith- stop it, that's not the toilet. Leigh- get up! He's peeing on you!" Leigh sort of sits up, and she's in a total daze. Keith finishes peeing, and then says, "I'm so sorry. Oh my god, I'm so sorry." Leigh says, "Keith, go to your room." Keith says, "I'm so sorry." Leigh says, "Whatever, don't worry about it, just go to your room." Keith proceeds to leave, without zipping up first I might add. His roommates later told me he didn't get to the room until about 5 that morning. So where he was, unzipped, all that time, I have no idea.
Anyway so back in the dorm room, Leigh rolls over to go back to bed. She's obviously still drunk. I say, "Leigh- get up. You have to change your sheets before you go back to bed." She says she's tired. I say, "Leigh- that's disgusting. You need to change those sheets." She retorts, with 'tude, "Yeah, well I really don't care." And with that she's back to sleep.
The next morning, a Friday, I woke up early for Intensive Intermediate French, which met every day. I look over at Leigh, and she's rolling around in the bed like nothing ever happened. I thought, well this is going to be interesting, and headed off to class.
When I returned, Leigh was in our suitemate's room discussing the night before. She was horrified. But not at the peeing fiasco. She didn't remember that. She was embarrassed that she hooked up with Keith and brought him back to her room. I proceeded to report on the night's events, and she was appropriately mortified. She immediately changed her sheets and begged me not to tell anyone. I then proceeded to tell anyone who would listen. Leigh was pretty full of herself and often made very rude comments directed at me. I didn't feel the need to protect her.
Sadly, the Leigh and Keith saga continued for years, and this incident is not close to their lowest low. I don't talk to Leigh much anymore, and I'm sure if I did I would like her a whole lot more than I used to. She was only 19 back then, and rather immature in many ways. But I will always be grateful to her for bringing that ridiculous night into my life. Everyone needs those kinds of experiences, and I got to be a part of one without being directly involved. And I learned a valuable lesson. Be nice to people-- if for no other reason than you never know what they might have on you one day.
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