Sunday, September 1, 2013

Have You Ever Been Killed Before?

Back at school means back to school parties right? I suppose so. I've discovered that now that I'm an old person in the realm of collegiate education, I don't really like crowded places. I don't want to ever run the risk of being dance raped again. Happening once in the basement of the Jewish fraternity by way of a boy grabbing me from behind and essentially swinging his junk against my ass in his own loose interpretation of what dancing with a female should be like was quite enough for me thanks.



So I know that when I agree to go to a highlighter party, I don't actually want to be in the thick of the party until after it's actually ended. Though of course, this will prove to be just as hazardous.

The people left over at the end of a frat party are divided into two groups that are vastly different from one another. The first is the group of people who actually belong there, and the second is the group that happens to still be there. Those that belong there are brothers and their actual friends. Those that happen to be there are drunkards and girls who are about to make a really unfortunate error in judgement.

I'm with a group of friends, all of us people who are actually supposed to still be there, when a gentleman approaches us. Now, remember that I said this was a highlighter party; this man is wearing a black tank top with the MTV logo on it (henceforth he will be known as MTV tank)

He asks, in incoherent, misogynist speak, which one of us is going to get up on that pole. We casually ignore him, knowing that he's not worth our best "get the fuck away from me" material yet. Those kind of cutting one liners must be saved for when they're really worth it.

He continues to tell us that we have to get up on the pole because apparently when females are in the vicinity of a pole, they have to swing about on it otherwise they are being cruel and taunting harpies. I don't know what it is about alcohol, men, and stripper poles but they certainly feel justified in absolutely seeing their fantasies come alive.

 Finally, I ask him why he doesn't get on the pole. He's only too happy to oblige me, and we're able to gravitate away while he feels like he's captivating us with a jumbled series of hip thrusts.

We're able convene in peace for a while longer, safe from the creepers. Though MTV tank returns, putting his arm around one of my friends, no doubt mumbling sweet nothings into her ear. All of us are all:

He doesn't. She asks several times for him to leave her be, and finally another friend in our group pushes him away bulldozer style. For those of you who are not familiar with this method of getting rid of unwanted attention, you merely have to place your hands on their chest and push them where you want them to go. You do however run the risk of them just following you back, so have a contingency plan.

Again, we're granted a reprieve from MTV tank, but after fighting off yet another drunkard, he moves around our group to hit on another one of my friends. Sober, she is having none of it.

She takes off his douchey looking hat and flings it across the room, telling him to go and get it. Apparently, that hat is nothing to him in the face of true beauty because he remains, still hanging all over her. At this point, I've had enough of him and have been waiting for an excuse to live out my fantasy of throwing a drink on a person all night.  As he is still hanging on my friend, refusing to oblige her requests to leave her alone, I see my opportunity.

With precision and appropriate nonchalance, I overturn the contents of my alcoholic beverage onto his head. His arm removes its pressure from my friend's shoulder and I turn back to my phone to send a text.

"What the fuck," says MTV tank. I ignore him. he's peering over my shoulder now, demanding my attention which I am loathe to give him (honestly I'm also a bit scared as well. Consequences are starting to play out in my head)

"Are you trying to get killed?" he asks.

I decide that it's fair not to ignore him anymore, and repeatedly ask if he's threatening me as he repeatedly asks me if I'm trying to get killed.

"How many times have you been killed before?" He asks.

I'm ashamed to say I wasn't quick enough to say that since I am still alive, I have obviously never been killed. Instead, I just ask again if he's threatening me.

In answer to my repeated question he makes a gun using his hand and pokes me in the forehead with his finger gun multiple times. I just stand there, fuming, and frankly, a little terrified that I'm going to be punched in the face soon. I've never been punched in the face, but it might have very well have happened in that time.

His friends usher MTV tank away and begin apologizing profusely to me. "I really apologize for him; he's an idiot; he just gets like this when he's drunk." My group of friends waste no time telling them that that's a real problem.

It is a funny thing when you think about it though, how quickly men are willing to abandon their friends good moral character in the face of an angry woman. As soon as their friend has pissed off a woman, they are all about telling you how much of an idiot their friend is.  It really begs the question, why are you friends with him? I rarely have to apologize on behalf of my female friends.  Thoughts gentlemen readers?

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