How woahmantic
This post is only about a month-and-a-half late in getting up here, but I figured I'd tell this story... it's a story of love, but also of hate... it's a story of joy, but also sorrow... it's a story of recycling... but also of trash (and I'm referring to the trailer variety).
About a month ago I was on my way to my girlfriend's room to keep her company while doing homework, and due to the layout of the dorm we live in, I happened to pass by one of the stairwells leading to both the first and third floors. The shaping of these stairwells in the dorm means that I walked directly passed one of the enterances into the stairwell. Fate would direct my attention there this night.
And then I heard it... a startled cry? A plea for help? A moan of agony and pain? I couldn't be certain, but from the sound of the voice, it made me believe that a girl had fallen down and perhaps twisted her ankle, maybe even broke something. I stepped next to the door for the stairwell, listening to hear if the sound would repeat itself again. It did indeed. I heard a muffled moan followed moments later by...
(Insert sound of tires squealing and a car crashing into a brick wall).
Yes, that's exactly what I heard. And then I heard it again. Follower by more moans, and more repeatings of those amazing words.
I raced to Hilary's room with what had to be the stupidest grin ever on my face. I called her over, motioned for her to follow me quietly, and walked back by the enterance and stopped. Then I held up my hand to my mouth to make sure she stayed quiet.
(Insert sound of tires squealing and a car crashing into a brick wall... again).
What on earth were they DOING in there?
Hilary and I walked back to her room for a moment, discussing how ignorant and obnoxious it was that people would be performing such an unbelievably shameful act in so public a place. We needed to know who it was. Me, I wanted to catch them, since it is probably something I should do considering my position as an NDA to the dorm. So Hilary and I charged into the stairwell... to find it empty. Damn. They had already left.
"I don't think they were in here," Hilary told me as we walked out.
"Well, if not in there, then where?" I asked. I should note that at this point, I was standing next to the enterance to the trashroom. I looked at her, looked at the door, and then started pushing it open.
Someone pushed back.
We decided not to stick around and confront whoever it was inside of the trash room. Though now, of course, we kinda wish we had.
The moral of this story? No matter what a horny student tells you, there should be NO sex, in the garbage room. None... oh there's garbage in the garbage room, but you don't want garbage... you want sex... and there's no sex, in the garbage room.
How some people can think that's romantic is beyond me.
About a month ago I was on my way to my girlfriend's room to keep her company while doing homework, and due to the layout of the dorm we live in, I happened to pass by one of the stairwells leading to both the first and third floors. The shaping of these stairwells in the dorm means that I walked directly passed one of the enterances into the stairwell. Fate would direct my attention there this night.
And then I heard it... a startled cry? A plea for help? A moan of agony and pain? I couldn't be certain, but from the sound of the voice, it made me believe that a girl had fallen down and perhaps twisted her ankle, maybe even broke something. I stepped next to the door for the stairwell, listening to hear if the sound would repeat itself again. It did indeed. I heard a muffled moan followed moments later by...
Fuck me!
(Insert sound of tires squealing and a car crashing into a brick wall).
Yes, that's exactly what I heard. And then I heard it again. Follower by more moans, and more repeatings of those amazing words.
I raced to Hilary's room with what had to be the stupidest grin ever on my face. I called her over, motioned for her to follow me quietly, and walked back by the enterance and stopped. Then I held up my hand to my mouth to make sure she stayed quiet.
Fuck me!
(Insert sound of tires squealing and a car crashing into a brick wall... again).
What on earth were they DOING in there?
Hilary and I walked back to her room for a moment, discussing how ignorant and obnoxious it was that people would be performing such an unbelievably shameful act in so public a place. We needed to know who it was. Me, I wanted to catch them, since it is probably something I should do considering my position as an NDA to the dorm. So Hilary and I charged into the stairwell... to find it empty. Damn. They had already left.
"I don't think they were in here," Hilary told me as we walked out.
"Well, if not in there, then where?" I asked. I should note that at this point, I was standing next to the enterance to the trashroom. I looked at her, looked at the door, and then started pushing it open.
Someone pushed back.
We decided not to stick around and confront whoever it was inside of the trash room. Though now, of course, we kinda wish we had.
The moral of this story? No matter what a horny student tells you, there should be NO sex, in the garbage room. None... oh there's garbage in the garbage room, but you don't want garbage... you want sex... and there's no sex, in the garbage room.
How some people can think that's romantic is beyond me.
