 "Photo: James Cavin")
Being the only sober person on Northgate feels a little bit...well, I guess it's kind of what the last human being would feel like after the world had been overrun by zombies. That is, if zombies went around throwing up on themselves and trying to touch you inappropriately. At any moment, the teeming masses may realize you are not one of them. "He's SOBER! Kill the unbeliever! Kill!"
I was on assignment deep in a vile den of iniquity. The mission: to study the seedy, booze-fueled underworld of Texas A&M. There were only two rules: 1) don't drink anything; and 2) write down everything that happens.
I was actually surprised when my subjects began exhibiting signs of intelligence, communication and even some low-level teamwork. Two males would approach each other in the street:
"Profanity," the first one would say.
"Further profanity plus a vulgar gesture," the second one would retort.
"Two vulgar gestures involving full body movement."
The two would move on to the next hunting ground, sniffing the air tentatively for signs of females and alcohol. Strangely, this adaptive behavior seems to decrease the subject's ability to reproduce and survive, leading me to wonder what kind of natural selection is at work. (Both males died in the first cold front.)
A strange and unexpected trend started to emerge as the study continued. Apparently, sitting completely sober at a corner table writing in a notebook releases some sort of wild drunk person pheromone. Yes, this tortured writer shtick is finally starting to pay off!
One girl, swaying pleasantly in place, asked me what I was writing. I explained I was writing an article on Northgate for The Battalion.
"About all the foolish mistakes we're making?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
"I hate you," she growled and walked off.
I made a mental note to tell the next girl who asked that I was writing a poem. "Actually, you've probably never heard of it, but I'm writing a sequel to my book, 'Twilight'..."
I was just about to breath a sigh of relief when someone collapsed into me. This girl was so drunk she couldn't stand up, and I apparently looked like a nice, stable object to lean up against.
"Hey," said one of her friends, trying to get her attention. "Let's not lean on this person."
She shoved her friend away belligerently and continued placing a good 75 percent of her weight on me.
"OK," I thought, "I guess I'll just keep writing then."
It was at exactly this point she started grabbing my butt. My very first reaction was to make sure my wallet was still there, which has caused me to wonder a lot about my priorities.
Every now and then, she would try to look alluringly over her shoulder, but she had so little motor control left that she would just flop her head over limply and stare at me with drooping eyelids and her mouth hanging open.
"OK," I thought, "I guess I'll just keep writing then."
Which is much easier said than done when you've got rustlers exploring the back 40, so to speak. After about 10 minutes she stopped, but only so she could start making out with some other dude. So now I've got a girl practically sitting in my lap, swapping saliva with some random guy. They were so drunk that when she turned her head to look around, he missed and started making out with her arm for a second.
It was at about this point I decided I had enough and extricated myself from the threesome. A moment later, she fell off the barstool backwards (he caught her in time).
I decided it was about time to head home and get my Hepatitis C booster shots. As I walked outside, I couldn't help but overhear a loud conversation happening amongst another group of would-be Casanovas.
I swear by my own grave that none of this has been in any way modified.
"Just show us your boobs!" shouted one to another drunk male.
"No, not your boobs, Kaylee's boobs!"
"It has to be a really good picture! I have a really good picture!"
The entire group proceeded to pull out cell phones and start waving them in each other's faces. After a brief pause, one of them said confusedly, "Wait, you're going to marry this girl?"
So for all you engaged Kaylees out there...
Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to grab my starving novelist costume and head to the bars. But first, I have to make sure I'm up to date on all my shots.
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