Senior | Female | Medill | Off Campus
Sophomore year after returning to campus from Spring Break, the prospect of the first Keg Monday glittered before me. So I took part in my usual pre-game activities—enough shots to get me at a level of drunk where I could enjoy the Keg, but not so much that I couldn’t grope my way back to Bobb at the end of the night. I guess a family vacation had done more damage to my tolerance than I thought.
I came home, early and alone, and blissfully passed out. An hour or two later I got out of bed quietly, so as not to wake up my roommate, who was also PTFO. God, I had to pee. The bathroom was only a few doors down the hall. But when I managed to plant my feet on the floor, the room spun. I still managed to make my way to the door, but I didn’t put on shower shoes; that should have been the first sign.
I weaved down the hallway, looking for the bathroom. Fuck, where was the bathroom? I couldn’t remember. So I picked a room at random, and then marched in with conviction.
A girl was sitting on the bed, bathed in soft lamplight, piously studying. I didn’t know her, and she said nothing. The next sequence of events happened very quickly and, in my mind, very logically. I headed to the mini-fridge at the back of the room, and opened the door. And then I pulled down my pants. And then I started peeing, also with conviction.
Wow, was it satisfying. The strange girl still hadn’t said anything. Finally, as my bladder was emptying out on her carpet and whatever gross takeout was stored in the fridge, she spoke.
“Hey,” she said, meekly and matter-of-factly, as if I had, I don’t know, accidentally stolen her pen instead of pissing in her room. “This isn’t the bathroom.”
“What?” I asked.
“You can’t do that here,” she said calmly.
“Oh, sorry,” I mumbled, and pulled my pants back up. I sauntered out of the room and back into the hall. She didn’t follow, or throw the hefty biology book that was in her lap at me, which would have been a much more appropriate response, considering I probably just gave her another reason to call CAPS.
Back in the hall, I was still disoriented. Fuck, where was my room? At least I didn’t have to pee anymore. I saw a friend approaching. “Oh, God, she’s going to know,” I thought. “I have that I-just-peed-in-someone’s-room look.” Instead she greeted me cheerfully. Eventually I found my room and went to bed, shaking a little.
The next morning I woke up and laughed. It had been a dream, albeit a ridiculous one. I’m so responsible; I would never do anything like that!
Then, later that afternoon, when my friends were hanging out, gossiping one asked: “Did you hear someone peed in some girl’s room last night?”
“What?! That’s, like, so nasty,” I said. Fuck. Definitely not a dream.
“I know, right? She was crying to the CA last night.”
“Do you know who it was?” I quickly followed up.
“Nope.”
I wished so badly for a retroactive blackout, so I could wipe away the whole ordeal. The only part that I blacked out, however, was which room I had fertilized. So I acted squirrelly for the next couple of days and ran past all of the rooms on the McCullough side just in case I ran into the girl whose room I had marked in dog-like fashion. And to this day, Tinklegate has never been solved.
