The Morning After: The Pooper
When I was a sophomore I lived in a quad in my sorority house. That meant 4 girls, 45 pairs of jeans and over 100 pairs of shoes stuffed into a very tiny space. With bunk beds. The close quarters were an issue when any sort of studying had to get done (“Can’t you wait until after 90210 is over to start that paper?!”) or heavy drinking was going down (“Dude, there is not enough room in here for you to do the worm…”) but we made it work most of the time.
And then we had a date party.
For those of you who don’t know, a sorority date party consists of asking guys to join you at a bar where everyone gets very, very drunk. Kind of like any other night of the week but with dresses and a photographer.
Anyways, needless to say, my roommates and I got quite intoxicated. Upon returning to the sorority house, everyone proceeded to leave their men outside and completely pass out fully clothed. I was pretty much dead to the world when I suddenly woke up out of my sleep; something smelled really bad. It took me awhile to figure out where I was, why I was still wearing heels, and why there was a slice of pizza in my hand, but when I finally came to I realized that my roommate (whose bottom bunk was a mere 4 inches away from mine) was also sniffing the air with a not-so-happy look on her face.
“Dude, what is that smell?” she asked me, sniffing the air like a puppy in heat. I began looking around the room, trying to figure out what was going on. Considering the small size of my living quarters, it took only a second to find the culprit: at 5:30 in the morning, wearing a beautiful black BCBG dress, my roommate was squatting over the bottom drawer (MY DRAWER!) of the dresser…having a bowel movement.
“SUSIE*!!” I screamed. She looked up at me. “What the hell are you doing in my underwear drawer!?”
“What?” She responded, confused. “Why are you in the bathroom stall with me?”
“You are not in the bathroom, you moron, you are in our bedroom…taking a crap in my underwear drawer!” I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or throw up all over myself. A moment later, I was ready to do all three.
Susie finally looked around and realized what she was doing.
“Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I’ll fix it.” Susie stood up, pulled up her underwear, fixed her hair in the mirror and started to clean up her mess. It was a noble thing to do (and that girl better clean up that sh*t), but Susie was still quite drunk and a little wobbly on her feet. She bent down, gathered whatever was in the drawer and walked towards the communal bathroom in the hall…..leaving a trail of poo poo along the wall as she went. It was like Hansel and Gretel’s trail. Only grosser.
I couldn’t help but scream. And kick. And cry. And throw up a little in my mouth.
Soon the entire sorority was awake and screaming along with me. Eventually our house mother showed up, shooed us all out to a neighboring house to get some sleep and closed down our house for some major Clorox action. Upon returning, my room became a lovely, spacious triple and Susie got a single.
Was it fair that she got a single to herself? No, but no one wanted to live with the pooper.