Every time my roommates and I have a party we tape our kitchen cabinets shut, empty out the fridge and hide all of our food in our locked rooms. We want to protect ourselves from those random drunk idiots that may come through and steal everyone’s sh*t, eat all their food and make a big mess.
A few weeks ago, I realized I was that random drunk idiot.
Bored at home after 6 weeks of summer with the parentals, a bunch of my friends decided to make the 45-minute drive back to campus for the night. One of our friends was still living up there and taking classes, so we decided to party and crash with him. It was your typical night full of drunken shenanigans: we chugged 64-ounce Long Islands on an outdoor patio, danced in a sweaty basement bar with no windows, then stumbled down the street with nowhere to go.
We were standing on the corner in front of our favorite liquor store where we had just purchased 6 Boones Farms and a 30-pack of Natty Ice (and I pocketed a bag of PB M&Ms….) when a party bus pulled up. We didn’t know where it came from, we didn’t know why it was there, but it was $5 to get on, the guy would take us anywhere we wanted to go, and when the bus stopped at the corner we watched a very drunk girl fly forward and tumble to the ground as Lady Gaga blared from the speakers…
Duh, we got on.
I had no idea where we were going, but one of my friends informed me of some party our friend’s (who was not there) little brother was at. “To Little Smith!” we screamed. And to Little Smith we went.
When we filed off the bus and into the house party, there weren’t many people around and we know no one but Little Smith. (It was less a “party” and more a “come over and drink in my living room” sorta sitch.) The three girls lounging on the couch on the porch informed us that they had just ordered hot wings and got too many so we were free to get some from the kitchen if we wanted. And that is when things began to take a turn for the worse.
My friends Stephen, Maggie and I stumbled through the living room and into the kitchen. While Stephen started nom nomming on wings, Maggie and I went in search of something tastier. There was no one else around and the freezer wasn’t taped shut (“Clearly they are just ASKING us to open it!”) so we opened it up and – ahhhh – found a box of Bagel Bites in the door. But not just any Bagel Bites – PEPPERONI BAGEL BITES. I couldn’t control myself. I was so excited I could pee. We grabbed ’em, pulled back the top, popped those badboys in the micro and counted down the 3 minutes until those little pieces of heaven hit our lips.
Meanwhile, mouth on fire, Stephen started popping around the kitchen looking for a cup for water. He was reaching into a cabinet with about two minutes left to go until Bagel bliss when a very angry boy (hereby known as VAB) walked into the room.
“What the f**k are you doing, dude?” VAB asked Stephen.
“Uh, no worries, buddy. I’m just looking for a cup for water.” (1 minute and 20 seconds left….)
“Why the f**k are you in my kitchen? What sorta a**hole are you, stealing our food? Who the f**k told you to come in here? Do I even know you? What the hell is your problem?” VAB puffed up his chest. (1 minute left…)
“Yo, yo. Relax, bud. I’m not eating your food. I just need a glass of water.”
As Stephen attempted to explain himself, Maggie and I stood next to the microwave watching the time tick down on the clock. We only had 45 seconds until our Bagel Bites were done (yay!), but that also meant only 45 seconds until the timer went off and this kid would probably beat the crap out of us with a spatula (boo).
The time kept ticking and VAB just wouldn’t give up. Feeling desperate, I pushed my boobs together and chimed in.
“We are sorry. He wasn’t stealing anything but we’ll go outside. So sorry. So, so sorry.” With ten seconds left to go on the microwave, I pushed everyone out of the kitchen and onto the porch. A feeling of relief washed over me and Maggie, but that feeling was soon replaced with an intense desire for our Bagel Bites.
“We cooked ’em. We can’t just leave them in there!” I cried. Maggie agreed so we came up with a plan to procure the BBs without VAB finding out. Maggie snuck into the house under the guise of going to the bathroom, tip-toed into the kitchen, snagged the Bites out of the micro and covered them in paper towel before shoving them in her purse. There was a little snafu getting out (she thought she found a backdoor but it was really a bedroom door, in which 2 people were getting it on), but she eventually made it back to the porch unscathed.
Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for the Bagel Bites. When we pulled back the paper towel to dive into our snack, the cheese and pepperoni went with it. We ate them anyway, very quickly, and were swallowing the very last bite when VAB walked onto the porch and discovered the empty box on the ground.
“RUN!” I screamed.
I was halfway down the block, the rest of the crew behind me, when I heard VAB scream.
Needless to say, we never partied with Little Smith again. But it was worth it; never again have little frozen bagels tasted so good.