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Tale of college humor

The Train That Dripped Lager

Come Fall semester, Macomb was Morgless. I had a hard time knowing that everyone in Macomb was having a ball while I was at home doing the nine-to-five scene. I felt like an athlete sitting out a season in his prime, a season that I could never get back. But it was a game that would only ruin me.

I kept in close touch with the Boyzz that fall, calling from time to time just to see who held the Kermit award, or to find out who had a new chick. The latest word was that Disco and Hurricane Jamie were officially dating. And Lance was said to be seeing the same woman for three straight weeks, easily a record for Mister It's Been A Nice Week, But I Need My Space.

Could it be that my college pals were settling down? I never thought it possible. They were so committed to living free and wild that I assumed they were lifers in the Party World. But I suppose somewhere inside every man is a desire to stop roaming and stick with one good woman.

I should never have hosted a major party while people were away at school. Despite all of the press releases and pre-party hype, Morgfest turned out to be a fairly subdued event. The Boyzz couldn't attend, and subsequently, no arrests were made. As a result of their absence, a full keg of beer was left over, and I couldn't just let it go to waste. The solution seemed simple: if the Boyzz couldn't come to Morgfest, bring Morgfest to the Boyzz. So I did. Oh sure, the train conductor looked suspicious as I boarded with a garbage can. "What's in that thing, son?" he asked as I set it down in the front of the passenger car.

"See for yourself," I grinned, while grunting from the heavy load.

His eyes popped out as he peeked underneath the blanket. "A half barrel? Say, you don't travel light, do you son?" he smirked. Cool: a hip conductor. And that wasn't the last of my lucky breaks: As fate would have it, an attractive young lady came along and sat down next to me.

"Can I get you a drink?" I offered.

"Sure," this young woman smiled.

I swaggered up to the front of the train car and drafted a couple cold ones, then returned to my seat. Needless to say, the woman was impressed, perhaps even dumbfounded. "You brought your own keg?"

"Always. I get more miles per gallon that way. And I make lots of friends."

I sure did make lots of friends: half the folks in our car were college students, and as such, natural beer moochers. "Hey man, mind if I pour myself one?" asked one dude after another. Of course I couldn't say no. So gradually the scene transformed from a boring train ride into an impromptu party, twenty strangers joking and laughing, looking like they had known each other for years.

As long as the mood was a little wild, I pulled out my suitcase and passed around some of my party hats for these folks. Some big football player type donned my Batman helmet, though his face bulged out of the undersized mask. And he placed my sombrero on the cute Mexican girl beside him and began serenading, "Aye aye aye aye, aye aye aye aye aye!"

I remember looking around and thinking, why can't every day be like this? Why can't strangers become instant chums all the time? But that's just wishing. I realized, as I glanced around me, that this would be one of those memories that would stand out, one of those rare events in life where people let their guards down to enjoy each other for a few precious hours.

I really dug the young lady sitting next to me, and for once I decided not to hide it. No playing hard to get. "I dig you," I said with a smile, staring deep into her eyes. And the next thing I knew, we were kissing. I mean really kissing. Just like in the soap operas. What a cool experience.

All too soon, we arrived in Macomb, my destiny. "You getting off here?" I asked my new lady friend.

"Nope. I'm going to Quincy."

"Bummer! Well I guess this is goodbye, huh? Listen, can I call you sometime?"

"If I didn't have a boyfriend already, " she began to explain, almost wishing she didn't.

"A boyfriend, yeah, I'd probably want you all to myself if I were him. Well in that case, can I have my space helmet back?"

We kissed once more, then I grabbed my suitcase and asked a couple of my newfound friends to carry the keg for me. With a little sadness, I stepped off that train and into the town of Macomb where Musky and Spanky were waiting to greet me. We hugged and slapped each other fives, then I directed the two partiers behind me to hand the keg to Musky and Spanky.

"Right. The keg," Spanky repeated, not believing me for a minute. Apparently they didn't take my postcard seriously.

As fun as the train ride was, I was mighty glad to be in Macomb. We piled into Musky’s Pacer and cruised the town for a while, Spanky and I in the back seat, and the keg up front. We stopped several times to draw beers for tasty morsels as Spanky played the Good Lager man, calling out: "Cold beer, here! Cold beer!"

I couldn't believe I was back in Macomb. I forgot the power this town had over me. Yes, it had been much too long since I last crawled these streets. Macomb! Macomb! I couldn't stop saying it. I felt like Dorothy waking up back in Kansas. "We have to go to the Palace!" I implored Musky.

"First let's drop the keg off at the dorm," he suggested.

That we did, and while we were there, I thought I'd pop in on Lance. "Anybody home?" I sang as I opened his door. Inside, heated flesh was bouncing to and fro, a naked girl mounted high atop Lance's abdomen, hanging on for dear life as the prone Lance Romance turned sideways to see who was at his door. "I'll come back," I said politely as I shut the door.

"Is Lance coming?" Spanky asked from down the hallway.

"Any minute now," I answered.

At last Musky piloted us to the Palace, my cozy old playground. The loud tunes, the stench of beer, young ladies in jeans, it was great to be home. Memories overpowered me as I walked into the dimly lit pit. I got hugs from lots of people I hadn't seen in months: Lacy, Mandy, all the Babes from 5th floor; I even got a warm hug from a girl I didn't know. "Morgypoo! I've heard lots about you!" she said with a fun smile as she took off her jacket, having walked in right behind us.

Thoughts raced through my mind over this great new find, until Lance stepped in and introduced her. "Morg, this is Donna, my girlfriend." Wink wink. He annunciated the words slowly and clearly so even a drunk could comprehend them, for I had a history of unknowingly hitting on his women when plastered.

I turned to Donna and shook her hand, saying, "H-i. I'm Lance's friend. F-r-i-e-n-d." I then whispered to Lance, "Pssst, is she the girl I saw naked on top of you about an hour ago?"

"Was that you? I couldn't figure out who the hell that was."

"Well you've never seen me when you were upside down before."

"Is this the Morg?" a voice behind me asked. I turned around and met a slick, studly dude with a pool cue in his hand. I would have been intimidated, if not for the smile. He introduced himself as Devin, the man who got my old room in Higgins, and the reigning Kermit holder.

Little Banjo Jim emerged from the crowd, his face all lit up at the sight of his buddy Morg. He looked surprised, but turned and darted away without even saying hello. Suddenly Banjo returned, carrying two shot glasses of clear stuff, either schnapps or vodka. I was pulling for schnapps. "Here, you drink wodka, is good," Banjo implored. Vodka, anything but vodka. "Is good, you drink," Banjo repeated.

I couldn't resist little Banjo, so I accepted his kind gift offering. "Just one," I said before slurping it down. Banjo nodded and drank his own.

Banjo wasn't the only generous one at the Palace; as I roamed about, all these friendly old faces came out of nowhere, smiling, asking me how I was, and pouring me beers at death speed. And again, in that Slavic accent, I'd hear, "Wodka, you drink wodka." Damn that Banjo. What could I do? I drank wodka.

At one point, I was nearing oblivion faster than I cared to, and I could see Banjo Jim approaching with yet two more shots. "Shit!" I gasped out of frustration. Before he could reach me, I hustled my way around to the other side of the bar. Banjo eyed me from across the way, held up both shots and shouted, "Morgy! I bring wodka!" He circled right, as did I, with the main bar in between us. He doubled back, and so did I. "This guy is trying to kill me," I panted. I could have run all night, but suddenly my eyes came upon an irresistible sight: Candy, the woman I once dated in my dreams, standing a few bodies away. Boy she looked hot, and her eager smile made me forget why I ever started avoiding her.

"Morgypoo!" she shouted. She ran up and embraced me, then gave me a kiss that only a lover would give. "I went to your room, but they told me you dropped out this year," she said in a sweet voice.

"You mean you're just visiting too?" I asked.

"Yeah! God it's good to see you! How have you been?"

"Great! Where are you staying?" I asked.

"That depends," she answered with a provocative smile, like I was one of her options. Whoa baby, I liked that talk. This was incredible, being back in Macomb, and holding Candy in my arms again, her eyes looking more eager than ever. I don't know that I'd ever been so excited, so emotionally high.

"Here, wodka," I heard from behind, the haunting war cry of Banjo Jim. I couldn't run now, so I braced myself and chugged another.

"Listen," Candy said as she gripped my biceps, "I have to meet some people over at the party on Adams Street, why don't you come along?"

"That's where we're going!" I happily replied. "How about if I meet you there?"

"Great!" Candy said before giving me a kiss and trotting toward the door.

I turned to Musky and Lance, who had been curiously standing by. Both of them shook their heads and grinned. I was smiling ear to ear, dreamily anticipating being with that spunky lady once again. "God I love Macomb!" I sighed to my buddies.

"You like wodka? I get you wodka!"

I drank wodka. And I practically floated above the crowd, just thinking about meeting up with Candy again, maybe spending the night together, and who knows, maybe we could start seeing each other back home in the burbs. Yeah, this was a sure thing, romance with a foxy, wild, boisterous, fun young lady. Only an idiot could botch this mission.

Guess what? I botched the mission. The beers and shots of vodka pushed me into a near comatose state. We barely stepped foot inside the front door of the party when Lance says I wandered off on my own into the night, looking like a zombie, as Banjo Jim chased me, shouting, "Wodka! I get us some wodka!" Somehow I forgot all about meeting up with Candy.

I awoke the following morning in the utility closet on 8th floor, clutching the keg, gradually becoming aware that I didn't know how I got there. I was physically intact: no missing limbs. And I didn't find any new adornments: no bruises, hickeys, or unusual hairstyling. Whew! I lucked out. No damage had been done, with the possible exception of my reputation as a gentleman.

Then I remembered that I was supposed to meet Candy at the party the night before. How agonizing to realize I'd blown it! I lay there on the bare cement floor for a good hour, thinking if-only's and getting more bummed than ever. Why couldn’t I make it happen with her?

It took me several hours to regain my composure, much less any motor abilities. I moved very slowly, staying near the men's room at all times, until noon when I was ready for more abuse.

Following my paternal instincts, I checked on the keg to see if it was still cold. To my surprise, Sam had put ice on it earlier in the morning. I'd never met Sam, but I heard a great deal about him. He was an R.A., and as such, he was responsible for enforcing rules on our floor, petty rules like "no kegs in the dorm." Sam was the fifth R.A. the Boyzz had gone through in just a year and a half. It was rather like being sheriff in a town of villainous gunslingers: the job was always open.

R.A.’s were usually goody two-shoes that tried to stop everyone else from having any fun. But Sam was an exception, a rare breed, a pirate in charge of the Queen’s ship. There were tales of his drinking adventures that rivaled my own, such as his most recent birthday. He was said to have taken off his cowboy boot, slapped it up on the bar along with a five dollar bill, and ordered the bartender to fill it up. That, alone, told me I was going to like this guy.

That afternoon, while Musky and I were playing drinking games, Banjo Jim borrowed the Musky-mobile to get more ice for the keg. That's when I made the foolish mistake of asking him to bring my suitcase in from the car. Twenty minutes later, Banjo and Spanky came in, hootin' and hollerin', displaying all the contents of my suitcase. Banjo was wearing my Batman helmet, mask included, as he waved around a half gallon bottle of wodka, while Spanky donned the Captain Video space helmet and held my bottle of 151 up over his head. "Yeah! This guy came to party, man!" Spanky laughed. "Check this out! He brings a suitcase down for the weekend, and he doesn't even put any clothes in it, just booze, underwear, and these funky hats."

"Wod-ka," was all Banjo said, and chills ran down my spine. Not again. Please not again. Night of the Living Wodka.

To my surprise, MacKenzie was also in town. Mac, my old mentor! Man, it was great to see him again. Graduation hadn’t changed that crazy guy one bit, still a compulsive joker, a man on the fringe between control and berserk. "What the heck are you doing in town?" I asked.

"They want me to deliver the Homecoming address at half time." That's when I recalled MacKenzie's wild performance of a year earlier, disrobing in the bleachers and kissing all the moms. Perhaps we were in for a re-run.

I can’t describe how much it meant to see Mac again. In a way, I wanted him to see just how wild of a party man I had become. I wanted to make him proud. But then again, I was trying to leave that identity behind.

Soon came game time, and this was the big one: Homecoming. Despite being 73 and a half point underdogs, we felt this could be the real turning point for our football team. Our game plan was to go with man-to-bottle coverage, and it worked like a charm. Something magical was in the air that day, for everyone seemed a bit lunatic. Last year it was MacKenzie, this year everybody. Musky and Banjo Jim paced the sidelines wearing my space helmet and Batman mask, an unlikely duo, while MacKenzie fed the multitudes with a huge hefty bag of popcorn he'd swindled away from the concession stand.

Lance went more conservative, donning his favorite cowboy hat, but he spent the entire second quarter kicking it while trying to pick it up off the ground. I don't know that I'd ever seen his motor skills that deteriorated. And when he finally managed to get his hat back on his head, he turned to a new hobby: embracing every girl in his path. "I wanna marry you!" he stammered without thought or discretion, falling into the arms of many a strange woman. He even embraced one of the girls from the Ice Cream Brigade, then shook his head and moved on.

I was using this event to test out my Halloween costume: the 21st century pirate look, made up of a fighter pilot cap, hunting vest, and sunglasses with one lens missing. Kind of a patch-over-the-eye look. The look on the Governor's face told me everything. "Nice speech, Gov," I smiled as he stepped down from the podium. He gave me one of those fish hand shakes, not at all a politician's grip. I think what really had him shaken up was the revolver in my holster. No, it wasn't real, but he couldn't know that. Heck, it even fooled his body guards. One frisked me while the other one pulled the magazine clip out, only to find it packing whiskey for ammo.

"I'm going to have to keep this, son," the secret service dude informed me. I knew it: he wanted that thing for his own private gun collection.

"Sure, no problem," I answered. "And hey, I hope you never have to use it."

"Come with us," the other fed frowned. Uh oh. I sensed I was in deep doo-doo here. They escorted me to the exit and said if I returned, I would be arrested. Oh well, this wasn't the first time I'd been ejected from a ball game. I began walking back toward Higgindome when I saw a familiar sight off in the distance: a man trying to pick up a hat. He bent over, reached down and took a spill to the ground. I knew it: Lance. The Feds booted him too.

Following the football game, the Boyzz convened on 8th floor, cranking stereos in four or five rooms as we partied in the hallway outside the utility closet. Sam the R.A. came by and said that we couldn't party there: if another R.A. came along, he'd be in trouble for not busting the keg. "So where do we put it?" Musky asked.

Sam smiled and said, "In my room." That would be his undoing. We proceeded to make party in the R.A.'s room for the rest of the evening, until Head Staff came and busted it up. Sam came waltzing in from a bathroom break, noticed Head Staff writing us up, and quickly played dumb. "What's going on in here?" he asked, scratching his head and looking dumfounded. Seeing how Sam was as wasted as any of us, his Superior saw right through his act and notified him that he would be evicted from the dorm within twenty four hours.

As I rode the train home Sunday morning, I gazed out the window and reflected on the wild weekend passed by. Unreal, that was all I could think. My mind wandered back through each foggy episode: Smuggling a full keg of beer on board, finding romance with a fellow passenger, blowing another romantic mission at school, waking up in a cold floored laundry room clutching a keg, wearing ridiculous outfits to the football game, getting thrown out by the Governor's body guards, all packed into one wild weekend. Maybe sitting out this semester was a good idea after all. I still didn't know how to stay tame in that place.

Turn to Chapter 13: Not the Comfy Chair! http://www.morgypoo.com/ch13.htm