I met CrazyTrain during spring quarter senior year of college in 2004. He was an opera major who I was officially introduced to at his solo recital. Although, truth be told, I knew him by reputation prior. I attended the recital with a mutual friend who was also in the opera program. She gave me a little inside information that all the other singers hated him. While they bandaged, babied, and bathed their vocal chords in tonics and care, CrazyTrain stayed out late, smoked cigs, and drank noxious keg beer, but still walked away with all the leads. Hardest of all for the arts community to digest was that he was (whispered tones) in a frat. He was a barrel of contradictions and a fan of raucous behavior. I liked CrazyTrain.
But of course I did because the motif of this point in my life was extremes. Extremes, maxiums, zeniths, superlatives… For example, my hair graduated from blond to bleached; my parking ticket count passed into the triple digits; the volume of my voice moved from party girl to Queen of Hearts loud; my skirt length shortened from mini to “you’re just wearing a tube top around your waist, aren’t you?”; my perpetual tan started to look sepia in pictures; and the gap between my bed time and my rise time narrowed to almost nothing. Best of all, Red Bull hired me as a brand rep and installed a fridge with unlimited product in my living room.
Since CrazyTrain and I were panhellenically initiated, we were obligated to attend the continuous stream of date parties, semi-formals, and charity balls. As one might imagine, by the final quarter of the final year, viable new date party prospects ran dry. I had only met CrazyTrain a couple of times, but fresh blood was fresh blood. He invited me to his last date party of the year.
THE FIRST DATE
A greek date party was routine by this point on our lives, but the thrill of a good night out was still alive. I met CrazyTrain, his housemate, and his housemate’s guest at their apartment for a double date pre-party. Housemate had a baritone raspy smoker’s voice, a three-day old beard, and a perma baseball hat. These boys drank like hyenas at a watering hole. If the opera kids were wondering who was the bad influence on CrazyTrain, ding-ding-ding, found it.
Housemates’s date was young, like freshman year young. So, I guess there still was fresh blood to be found for these events. I’m not sure what happened to her after the pre-party. All I know is that like a baby antelope she was pulled away from the herd and didn’t make it to the venue. Probably a casualty of too much drink or too little fake ID.
What this meant for me was that for the duration of the date party, I had two dates. Or what a pessimist might refer to as a third wheel. Luckily I’m a libra, so I could balance this situation just fine. Turned out we had more fun than anticipated – one of those nights you can’t plan for or recreate. (Unless you know where to find Red Bull, then you’re golden.)
Once we arrived back to campus, the standard after party continued at my house. Part of being a good hostess is knowing when to fill your guests’ glasses and when to call it a night. Housemate put on my fur coat, then fell asleep on the floor like a drowsy puppy. If I were looking for a sign to call it a night, that was it. I walked them as far as the staircase and said they could show themselves out.
Back in my room, I pulled off my date party clothes and went to sleep. In the buff. That’s why it was weird the next morning when I woke up wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants. It felt like I had a playing card in my pocket. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my drivers’ license. WTF.
And then I remembered.
After falling asleep, two police spotlights in my room woke me up. I was so disoriented, I felt like Courtney Love at the Oscars. We finally established that they were mr and mrs police officer and I had to get up to attend to an urgent issue. But I said that I couldn’t. But they said that I had to. I had my duvet pulled up to my nose with my fingers peeking over the top. I told them that I wasn’t wearing anything.at.all. I asked lady police officer to pick out some pajamas for me from the third drawer down on the dresser and then I would meet them in the living room.
When I got to the main level there were four more police officers and one took some information from my license to start a report. I asked what happened. They said they had some perps outside who claimed I could corroborate their story. Oh this should be good. We walked to the front porch. I was still blinking and adjusting my eyes to the light, but i saw them. CrazyTrain and Housemate sat handcuffed with bracelets behind their backs. I was like an anchorwoman overcome with the giggles, but trying to hold it together. What could possible have gone so wrong walking back to their apartment half a block away?
The officer said they’d been arrested under suspicion on robbing a convenient store. “What?!” I said astonished. CrazyTrain looked up and said guiltily “The Red Bull fridge. We took it as a prank.” Two dudes carrying a Red Bull fridge down the street at 3AM looked more like a crime scene than a prank. I saw my poor little fridge on its side in the front lawn. So could I confirm their claims? 1) They had been at my house and had not broken in. Yes, correct, they were here. 2) The Red Bull fridge belonged to me. Yes, correct, here are my business cards and keys to the fridge. 3) I totally wouldn’t be mad. Wait, what?
So I shrieked, “OFF WITH THEIR HEADS!”