There have been many mornings in my life where I have regretted the night before. Since I’ve gotten married and had a child, those nights have definitely decreased significantly, but unfortunately, they do still exist. In fact, I think that due to the diminishing party lifestyle that I sort of once had, my mornings after a night out now seem worse because my body isn’t used to it. That’s good and bad. Never in my life, however, have I been as revolted and ashamed as much as I was after one night my freshman year in college. It was my first actual, real drunk and as a result, my first actual, real hangover. It was, and forever will be known as:
The Cheegle Incident
The day started off innocently enough. It was a Saturday and my first semester roommate Jim had gotten in late the night before. I had a girlfriend at the time and spent a lot of evenings at her house before coming back to the residence hall at a reasonable hour and going to bed. Jim, however, would stay out partying until 4:00 or 5:00 in the morning and would require an entire morning and sometimes an early afternoon to sleep it off. That was not a problem as I was fairly quiet, read a lot, and he could sleep through any noise that I might make.
When I woke up around 9:00, I was a little hungry. Being college freshman, there was never any food of substance in our room, but there was always junk food. I could have walked to the cafeteria, but it was far away and up a big hill and my lazy bottom just wasn’t going to take on that task this early in the day. My only other option was to scour our practically bare food shelf and see what we had. Jim always liked chili and would eat it like it was going out of style, so there was always plenty of that. Of course, he would also leave half eaten bowls of chili around the room which not only looked disgusting, but gave the room a really nice aroma as well. Had he ever been awake at the same time as me, I might have said something to him. I, on the other hand, wasn’t a big fan of chili so that was not an option.
The only other things on the shelf were a couple packets of Snack Pack chocolate pudding and a bag of Cheegles. For those not familiar with Cheegles, they were the Eagle brand version of Cheese Puffs. They tasted exactly the same, but were sold at the campus “grocery store” and I could buy them with my food card. I figured that the chocolate pudding would be a good breakfast and then I’d make my way to the cafeteria later for lunch. Two snack packs and a few television shows later (with Jim still sleeping on the top bunk), I was still hungry. I still didn’t feel like walking to the cafeteria so I grabbed the bag of Cheegles and proceeded to eat a few as I watched Clerks for the umpteenth time that semester.
When Clerks was over, I looked down and noticed that I had eaten the entire bag of Cheegles. Like I’ve said before, in those days I couldn’t gain a pound to save my life so it wasn’t as if something like eating an entire bag of chips was that uncommon, I just wasn’t expecting it. I wasn’t hungry anymore, Jim was still sleeping (around 2:00 pm at this point), and I had some homework to do so I headed to the computer lab thinking that I’d go to the cafeteria later for dinner.
The next series of events are kind of sketchy as I don’t recall exactly how it all went down, so I’ll summarize. I got back from the computer lab, Jim was awake and gone (but not showered – the dude rarely bathed but his hair never moved either. It was the oddest thing), and somewhere along the way, I was approached by a friend who said they were having beers in their room that night and asked if I wanted them to pick anything up for me.
Somehow, I decided upon Red Dog.
I’m not sure if I’d ever had Red Dog at that point in my life, but even if I did I certainly hadn’t imbibed enough to get drunk. I was a pretty good boy at that time in my life and even agreeing to go to a beer party in someone’s room IN THE DORM was a big move. So, I handed over $10 and waited for the call that the beer was there and the party was starting.
Eventually, after showering and straightening up the room a little, I got the call and made my way upstairs. Jim still wasn’t in the room but he must’ve stopped back by because he had eaten a bowl of chili prior to his departure. I know that because there was a half eaten bowl in his bed. I know that because the room stunk to high heaven and I had to sniff out the source like a hound dog. This dude was a slob.
When I got up to the second floor room for the party, I found a nice gathering of friends I’d made from a learning community that I had joined that year. I don’t remember if we played games or if we just sat around and talked, but I’m pretty sure that I managed to polish off most of that 12 pack of Red Dog. I didn’t like how it tasted, but I was a bad ass and I was drinking beer at the age of 18 in a dorm room where alcohol was prohibited. I was going to drink as much as I could.
I remember leaving the party. I’m not sure what time it was, but I do remember that the walk down the stairs and back to my room was pretty uneventful and I didn’t even remember feeling drunk. Jim wasn’t there when I got to the room but the bowl of chili had been removed from his bed and was now sitting in the bathroom sink – still half full of chili. I remembered at that point that I never made it to the cafeteria for dinner and laughed to myself that I’d only eaten two snack packs and an entire bag of Cheegles that day. I moved it to the side, washed up, and went to bed.
Here’s where it gets ugly.
Have you ever had one of those dreams where something seems so real, yet you know it’s a dream so you just let it take its course to see where it might go? Well, I had a dream that sometime after I went to bed, I woke up and was projectile vomiting everywhere. I was sure it was a dream because I certainly didn’t feel like myself (shit-faced) and there is no way that I would projectile vomit all over my room. I don’t do that.
Well…
A little while later I woke up feeling like absolute hell. In fact, I think being in hell might have been a better thing than the way I was feeling. My head was pounding, my eyes were burning, and for some reason, I couldn’t lift my head off of my pillow. Also, something in the room stunk and was making me nauseous. I looked around and realized that I had not, in fact, been dreaming but instead had managed to throw up all over my bed, my pillow, and myself. It was absolutely disgusting and made we want to vomit again.
I somehow peeled my head off of my pillow, stumbled to the bathroom, made my way into the stall, and puked again. And again. And again. Now normally when I puke from alcohol, I feel a little better afterwards. Not me. I felt worse. In fact, I felt so bad and was still so drunk that I went to the only place that I knew would make me feel better - my vomit covered bed. I laid down in the gunk, put my puke covered head right back on that puke covered pillow and went right back to sleep.
Then came the morning
When I woke up the next morning, I only had a vague recollection of the prior nights events. I knew I had thrown up, I knew that there would be a mess to clean up, and by the smell I knew I would need to take a shower asap. What I saw when I opened my eyes, however, let me know exactly how bad it was and how I was going to spend my day.
As I opened my eyes, I was blinded both by the sting of the smell of the vomit and by the sight that unfolded before me. If you were to have drawn a circle around me out 5 feet in every direction, you could pretty much be certain that everything within that circle was now covered in stinky, hardening, cheegle-colored birght orange puke. I had never seen vomit this color before in my life. Imagine your fingers after eating a few cheese puffs and now take that color, add some beer and stomach lining, and spray it around your room. It was almost glowing. It was on my bed, my covers, my pillow, me, my nightstand, the wall, the carpet, Jim’s nightstand, the lawn donkey that Jim had stolen as a prank earlier in the semester, everything. And it was drying quickly. And it stunk.
For the rest of the morning and well into the afternoon, I spent my time washing my bedding (twice), wiping down my bed, my nightstand, the wall, the carpet, Jim’s nightstand, and the lawn donkey (who did NOT look amused) all while making trips to the bathroom every so often to heave once again. I was able to clean most of it up, but the orange on the wall would not come off. I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed some more, but it was not going to come off. I moved out of that room after first semester, but I’m pretty sure that Jim got stuck with owing part of his security deposit due to them having to repaint the room. It was that bad
I felt absolutely horrible and after many hours of cleaning and then finally getting to shower (I wasn’t going to shower and THEN clean up puke all day), I was finally able to lay back down in my now clean bed and attempt to sleep off what was left of my substantial hangover. It was at this point that Jim finally woke up. He groaned, yawned, stretched, and made the first attempt at conversation we’d had in over a week. “Dude,” he asked, “what is that smell?”
I responded the only way I saw fit “It’s probably your freaking chili, jackass.”
The Cheegle Incident
The day started off innocently enough. It was a Saturday and my first semester roommate Jim had gotten in late the night before. I had a girlfriend at the time and spent a lot of evenings at her house before coming back to the residence hall at a reasonable hour and going to bed. Jim, however, would stay out partying until 4:00 or 5:00 in the morning and would require an entire morning and sometimes an early afternoon to sleep it off. That was not a problem as I was fairly quiet, read a lot, and he could sleep through any noise that I might make.
When I woke up around 9:00, I was a little hungry. Being college freshman, there was never any food of substance in our room, but there was always junk food. I could have walked to the cafeteria, but it was far away and up a big hill and my lazy bottom just wasn’t going to take on that task this early in the day. My only other option was to scour our practically bare food shelf and see what we had. Jim always liked chili and would eat it like it was going out of style, so there was always plenty of that. Of course, he would also leave half eaten bowls of chili around the room which not only looked disgusting, but gave the room a really nice aroma as well. Had he ever been awake at the same time as me, I might have said something to him. I, on the other hand, wasn’t a big fan of chili so that was not an option.
The only other things on the shelf were a couple packets of Snack Pack chocolate pudding and a bag of Cheegles. For those not familiar with Cheegles, they were the Eagle brand version of Cheese Puffs. They tasted exactly the same, but were sold at the campus “grocery store” and I could buy them with my food card. I figured that the chocolate pudding would be a good breakfast and then I’d make my way to the cafeteria later for lunch. Two snack packs and a few television shows later (with Jim still sleeping on the top bunk), I was still hungry. I still didn’t feel like walking to the cafeteria so I grabbed the bag of Cheegles and proceeded to eat a few as I watched Clerks for the umpteenth time that semester.
When Clerks was over, I looked down and noticed that I had eaten the entire bag of Cheegles. Like I’ve said before, in those days I couldn’t gain a pound to save my life so it wasn’t as if something like eating an entire bag of chips was that uncommon, I just wasn’t expecting it. I wasn’t hungry anymore, Jim was still sleeping (around 2:00 pm at this point), and I had some homework to do so I headed to the computer lab thinking that I’d go to the cafeteria later for dinner.
The next series of events are kind of sketchy as I don’t recall exactly how it all went down, so I’ll summarize. I got back from the computer lab, Jim was awake and gone (but not showered – the dude rarely bathed but his hair never moved either. It was the oddest thing), and somewhere along the way, I was approached by a friend who said they were having beers in their room that night and asked if I wanted them to pick anything up for me.
Somehow, I decided upon Red Dog.
I’m not sure if I’d ever had Red Dog at that point in my life, but even if I did I certainly hadn’t imbibed enough to get drunk. I was a pretty good boy at that time in my life and even agreeing to go to a beer party in someone’s room IN THE DORM was a big move. So, I handed over $10 and waited for the call that the beer was there and the party was starting.
Eventually, after showering and straightening up the room a little, I got the call and made my way upstairs. Jim still wasn’t in the room but he must’ve stopped back by because he had eaten a bowl of chili prior to his departure. I know that because there was a half eaten bowl in his bed. I know that because the room stunk to high heaven and I had to sniff out the source like a hound dog. This dude was a slob.
When I got up to the second floor room for the party, I found a nice gathering of friends I’d made from a learning community that I had joined that year. I don’t remember if we played games or if we just sat around and talked, but I’m pretty sure that I managed to polish off most of that 12 pack of Red Dog. I didn’t like how it tasted, but I was a bad ass and I was drinking beer at the age of 18 in a dorm room where alcohol was prohibited. I was going to drink as much as I could.
I remember leaving the party. I’m not sure what time it was, but I do remember that the walk down the stairs and back to my room was pretty uneventful and I didn’t even remember feeling drunk. Jim wasn’t there when I got to the room but the bowl of chili had been removed from his bed and was now sitting in the bathroom sink – still half full of chili. I remembered at that point that I never made it to the cafeteria for dinner and laughed to myself that I’d only eaten two snack packs and an entire bag of Cheegles that day. I moved it to the side, washed up, and went to bed.
Here’s where it gets ugly.
Have you ever had one of those dreams where something seems so real, yet you know it’s a dream so you just let it take its course to see where it might go? Well, I had a dream that sometime after I went to bed, I woke up and was projectile vomiting everywhere. I was sure it was a dream because I certainly didn’t feel like myself (shit-faced) and there is no way that I would projectile vomit all over my room. I don’t do that.
Well…
A little while later I woke up feeling like absolute hell. In fact, I think being in hell might have been a better thing than the way I was feeling. My head was pounding, my eyes were burning, and for some reason, I couldn’t lift my head off of my pillow. Also, something in the room stunk and was making me nauseous. I looked around and realized that I had not, in fact, been dreaming but instead had managed to throw up all over my bed, my pillow, and myself. It was absolutely disgusting and made we want to vomit again.
I somehow peeled my head off of my pillow, stumbled to the bathroom, made my way into the stall, and puked again. And again. And again. Now normally when I puke from alcohol, I feel a little better afterwards. Not me. I felt worse. In fact, I felt so bad and was still so drunk that I went to the only place that I knew would make me feel better - my vomit covered bed. I laid down in the gunk, put my puke covered head right back on that puke covered pillow and went right back to sleep.
Then came the morning
When I woke up the next morning, I only had a vague recollection of the prior nights events. I knew I had thrown up, I knew that there would be a mess to clean up, and by the smell I knew I would need to take a shower asap. What I saw when I opened my eyes, however, let me know exactly how bad it was and how I was going to spend my day.
As I opened my eyes, I was blinded both by the sting of the smell of the vomit and by the sight that unfolded before me. If you were to have drawn a circle around me out 5 feet in every direction, you could pretty much be certain that everything within that circle was now covered in stinky, hardening, cheegle-colored birght orange puke. I had never seen vomit this color before in my life. Imagine your fingers after eating a few cheese puffs and now take that color, add some beer and stomach lining, and spray it around your room. It was almost glowing. It was on my bed, my covers, my pillow, me, my nightstand, the wall, the carpet, Jim’s nightstand, the lawn donkey that Jim had stolen as a prank earlier in the semester, everything. And it was drying quickly. And it stunk.
For the rest of the morning and well into the afternoon, I spent my time washing my bedding (twice), wiping down my bed, my nightstand, the wall, the carpet, Jim’s nightstand, and the lawn donkey (who did NOT look amused) all while making trips to the bathroom every so often to heave once again. I was able to clean most of it up, but the orange on the wall would not come off. I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed some more, but it was not going to come off. I moved out of that room after first semester, but I’m pretty sure that Jim got stuck with owing part of his security deposit due to them having to repaint the room. It was that bad
I felt absolutely horrible and after many hours of cleaning and then finally getting to shower (I wasn’t going to shower and THEN clean up puke all day), I was finally able to lay back down in my now clean bed and attempt to sleep off what was left of my substantial hangover. It was at this point that Jim finally woke up. He groaned, yawned, stretched, and made the first attempt at conversation we’d had in over a week. “Dude,” he asked, “what is that smell?”
I responded the only way I saw fit “It’s probably your freaking chili, jackass.”
I also didn't say "freaking"
No comments:
Post a Comment