Part Two

When I was in college I had what I think of now as being a distorted view of what constituted acceptable behavior in a fraternity member. I think Animal House was still too prevalent in my own social consciousness.

Anyway, we were having a rush party one night, an excuse for a kegger ostensibly to attract potential new members. Some guy showed up and broke any number of social mores, one of which was making himself the center of attention by dancing really, really badly. He was such a spectacle there wasn't a chance in hell of any of us considering him for a spot in our exalted brotherhood but, of course, no one said anything. What was there to say?

And then he left, but not before the ghosts of Eric Stratton and Flounder and D-Day and the gang channeled themselves through my malleable body. Damn, I thought, my evil plan will not come to fruition.

But then he came back.

I grabbed two cohorts and rushed to the kitchen. We found a bucket in the cupboard beneath the sink and filled it with warm water (it was a cool night and I didn't want the poor schmo to be uncomfortable). We added a few ounces of dishwashing detergent for good measure and stole up to the second story balcony, the one overlooking the front porch.

Then he left again. I started to think this tomfoolery just was not meant to be. But not to worry: he spoke with someone in a car and hurriedly rushed back for more jerky body spasms. At this point my two confederates got cold feet and abandoned me. The shortsighted fools. Was I the only one who realized this type of social activity was entirely appropriate in the fraternal arena?

So the kid, whose name I never knew, began hurling and kicking and gyrating on the steps leading to the porch. This was directly beneath me. I waited for some separation between himself and the poor girl he was dancing at, then launched. I didn't hang over or watch the results of my work. The vision was for the drenching to be from out of the blue, a kind of divine act, and it apparently worked.

I was told by the dozens of people down below that it had been a perfect hit.

Again, I couldn't stop laughing. Hell, I'm still laughing. So I'm going to hell. I'm not saying that now, somewhere in my forties, that I can defend my behavior. I really can't. But I can laugh at it, and if I'm not careful, ream the nostrils with fluid otherwise destined for my belly.

I did see him as he left the party. Soaked thoroughly from the head to the knees. And he never came back, which really, no one was sorry about. The chapter president did tell me that it wasn't a cool thing to do, and he was right even though it was something he had to say. Truth to tell, I'm sorry, kind of, that I did it and if the gentleman were in front of me today I'd shake his hand (if he'd let me) and apologize. I just don't know if I could do it with a straight face, damn me.