Today I have been prompted to write about either my biggest lie or about something interesting that has happened involving me in the style of an instruction manual. Since I’m still not comfortable with the idea of outing myself on my biggest lie ever, I’ve decided to go with the latter. Maybe one day, quite probably in person with friends, but never here will I divulge my happy little lie.
A Guide to Drunken Learning
Step 1: Pick a ridiculously prohibitive school.
I went to school at Baylor University. I loved everything about my experience there, except for their stance on alcohol. The campus was dry. The parties were dry. And any condition of non-soberness was automatically reported to the authorities. Even if you were of legal age. My sister and I so abhorred this practice that we set up our off-campus apartment as a sobering up way point for friends who lived on-campus. But that’s another story, for this set of circumstances it’s enough to know that I picked a school that highly frowned on drunken antics anywhere, much less in the classroom.
Step 2: Pick a friend to be your partner in crime.
She was an obvious choice. In order to not have to reference her in the third person for the rest of this post, which would get awkward for sure, we’ll call her Bubbles. Bubbles and I met at the beginning of her freshman and my sophomore year. It would be years before we were separable. Her 21st birthday was looming, but her parents were, if possible, more prohibitive in their attitude towards alcohol . Her actual birthday was going to be a trip up to a Texas Rangers game with her Dad so no booze was happening that night. Which is when we came up with the lunch time drinks plan.
Step 3: Profit.
Step 3: Procure Booze.
We did what any good college girls do when going to procure the first alcohol ever for someone. We went to the nearest HEB grocery store to us. It’s nickname was the Ghetto HEB (pronounced heeb here, though normally you just use the individual letters). It was a Thursday and we only had one afternoon class. So she grabbed a six pack of Smirnoff Ice, I don’t even remember the flavor and we headed back to my apartment for our birthday lunch of Smirnoff Ice and Waffles. Because we’re classy like that.
Step 4: Attend class while inebriated.
It wasn’t our fault that our only class that afternoon was a small seminar class. It was Piano Literature and at times was as dull as the name implies. We may have been slightly giggly during class. In hindsight, sitting in our normal spots across the room from each other was probably a bad idea. The eye contact and giggling that were normally somewhat under control ran rampant that day. Everything our teacher said was entertaining. I somehow remember that there was a discussion involving a merry go round. How that related to Schumann’s piano repertoire, I’m not sure, but it definitely happened.
Step 5: Don’t get caught. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.
After we got away with it the first time, we realized that we had struck gold. All of a sudden the class that plodded on for one and a half hours on Thursday afternoons became our favorite place to be. We sipped beverages, ran across campus, and laughed our way through piano literature. Maybe not the best thing for our retention of the information, but it went a long way in helping us actually enjoy our college experience. Not to mention, it got me prepped up to be a grad student at a school where drinking in class was officially sanctioned.