Last weekend I found some slutty freshmen girl's wallet on the floor a frat's kitchen. It was silver with pink sparkles. I bet she was giving head when it fell out of her Prada purse. Although I generally avoid giving head in kitchens, I can relate to the horror and inconvenience of losing important belongings while partying. As it turns out, I happened to know the girl through a couple of friends, so returning it wasn't a huge problem for me.
Yesterday I found myself trudging through one of the freshmen dorms to drop it off in her room. (How I ended up bringing the wallet to her rather than her coming to me is still a somewhat baffling, degrading occurence.) On the elevator up to one of the co-ed floors, some fugly sleaze with gelled hair I used to have art history with turned to me, stared me up and down, eyes lingering on the Greek letters plastered to my chest, and finally commented, "I didn't know you lived here."
JESUS CHRIST AS IF I WOULD EVER LIVE IN THAT DORM, ESPECIALLY AS A SOPHOMORE! I didn't recognize him at first. His acne was flaring up more than usual, and, more importantly, I just wasn't expecting to see someone I knew (especially another sophomore) in a predominately freshmen dorm.
I didn't feel like explaining the slutty girl lost wallet story that brought me to the dorm. Besides, he'd already thoroughly annoyed me with both his sleaziness and his assumption that I would live at such a place. Thus, I took a moment to conjure the perfect lie to shut him up.
My lips parted and in a voice cold enough to freeze his hair gel I explained, "Oh, I don't live here. I'm just sleeping with someone who does."
The elevator grew silent until a polite "ding" announced my departure. The doors opened. I didn't say good-bye.
