We Want the Airwaves
Our dorm, like most others on campus, had a small radio station in the basement. It wasn't much; it was inhabited by two-inch-long cockroaches, and could only broadcast to the residents of the dorm, or over a dorm-wide network. Not many people were even hooked up, and the few times the number of listeners rose much above a dozen was when we were played in the cafeteria. But despite its practical function as not much more than a toy, the officers in charge of the station tried to run it like a Prussian railroad station. They claimed their heavy- handedness was justified because the most powerful station on campus could actually be heard on car radios within a distance of about twenty feet from that dorm, and thus we would be shut down by the supposedly vigilant FCC at the slightest transgression. These were very high-strung people. Some were anal-retentive fundamentalists, others were on some sort of personal musical jihad and took opposition rather personally; I recall the station manager once arriving to a meeting literrally *shaking* with rage because someone had written "this is silly" at the bottom of a sheet of rules he'd posted on the station bulletin board.
Naturally, tormenting this crew became a sport of the guys on our floor. We got together a group we called the Captain Condom Players to tape tasteless skits that we'd broadcast on our shows, which quickly became a thorn in the side of the management. But the funniest event occurred one night during one of my roommate's shows.
I went down to join him in the station that evening, and we soon became bored with playing music. So he began flipping through magazines, picking out 1-800 numbers, calling them, and interviewing the operators over the air. He spent about 15 minutes trying to coax a date out of one lady in Florida: "No! Seriously! I can be down there in a day and a half!" But this, too, soon grew tedious, and he was seized with an idea. He looked up the phone number of the president of the university, which was actually listed, and put through a call while broadcasting the conversation, which went something as follows:
*ring* *ring* "Hello?" ( his wife answers ) "Hello! May I speak to Steve?" ( rather informal! ) "Who is this?" "It's Neal!" ( oh, of course! ) "Just a minute..." ( fished in! ) "Hello...uh...Neal?" ( we're on the air! )He proceeded to have an amiable chat about the basketball game which had just let out that night. About half-way through, the current station manager came tearing into the room, and I have never seen anyone so comically distressed. He was *bright* red, panting uncontrollably, and waving his arms, yet was compelled to not make a sound lest it be heard on the air. My roommate finally ended the conversation, during which the president, apparently a very good sport, never inquired at to just which particular "Neal" he was talking with. Fortunately, no one got in any trouble.
"Crash"
Another colorful personality on our dorm floor had the nickname "Crash", which he received for being hit by cars at least three times in a single semester while riding his bike. His room was truly a sight; he and his roommate had a mysterious, undocumented third person living there whose only apparent role was to aid their drinking. To say "Crash" enjoyed drinking would be like describing the Pope as a mere "church-goer". From the stories he told, he apparently had friends back home even more bizarre than himself, people whose idea of fun was going hood- surfing on the interstate. But "Crash" had some interesting adventures of his own. One morning he woke up in the county jail, with absolutely no recollection of how he had gotten there. He sat dazed at lunch in his bright jumpsuit with the other prisoners, who found it hilarious that he had no idea why he was now blessed with their company, or vice-versa. As it turned out, he had been arrested for stealing his own bike the night before. He had been so soused that his fumbling to undo the lock had attracted the attention of an officer, who couldn't extract from him a coherent explanation of his activities.
On another occassion, "Crash" woke up one morning lying on the sidewalk in front of the county courthouse, with a State Trooper bending over him asking why he was there. That must be a very unwelcome sight to wake up to: blue sky, clouds, and the face of a Trooper inquiring why you're horizontal in public. Upon inspection he discovered his glasses and one shoe were missing. The last thing he'd remembered was sitting on his porch, and I'm not sure just what information he provided the concerned Trooper. I'm not sure whatever happened to "Crash", perhaps he's become a motivational speaker.
Going Drown
One of the most destructive pranks pulled in our doom was a variation of the full-bucket-propped-against-the-door prank. In this case, it was a full, wheeled trash container leaned against an elevator door. These portable trash containers were about two feet square by five feet tall, and half a dozen would sometimes be stuffed into an elevator to prevent its use. Someone filled one with water, probably the better part of a cubic meter, and set it against the elevator doors, where it not only gave someone a big wet surprise but also cost the residents several thousand dollars charged for subsequent elevator repairs. Not all pranks end up funny.
Powder Room
One time my freshman year my roommate and I discovered that pouring talcum powder into a running fan made truly wonderful smoke clouds. After spending the better part of half an hour doing this with a once-full container, both we and our room had taken on a rather ghostly pallor. Nearly everything was covered in a layer of fine white dust. It took a lot of wiping to get rid of it.
Cat in the Sack
Late one evening during semester-end festivities, my roommate and I were returning to a friend's apartment to crash after having completed a successful mission to turn off a major campus clock. He found a stray black cat on the way, and upon arriving at the apartment found the friend asleep in his bedroom. He left the cat in bed with the fellow, and after waiting a little while in the living room we were treated to a medley of surprised human and feline screeches. The fellow scrambled dazed (but now quite awake) out of his room, followed shortly thereafter by the cat, which seemed to have the calmer attitude of the two.
Tiger in Your Tank
One night at the graduate dorm, my roommate and I were sitting around with some friends, trying out some homebrewed beer that one of them had produced. The conversation eventually turned to "things that would be terrible to drink", and my roommate's bottle of tabasco sauce was mentioned as an item. Well, one thing led to another, and I volunteered to drink a full shot of straight tabasco for seven dollars.
Wow.
Oh, the pretty colors I saw.
I kept it down though, and collected the money.
Polite to a Fault
Our senior year, my roommate was using a family car for trips around campus and weekend visits to home. This was a talking car, one of the ones that says things like "Your. Door. Is. Ajar." and "Please fasten. Your seatbelts." This is novel and a bit amusing at first, but gets old quite quickly. Once while my roommate was making a trip near his home, the car's wee little talking brain succumbed to dementia, and would not stop saying "Please!" He had to spend an entire 40 minute trip listening to his car endlessly beggging "Please! Please! Please! Please!..." I think he finally tracked down and yanked its "voicebox".