By Halcyon Orvendal
I try to cherish those disorienting moments just after waking; that blissful state of limbo that is not quite sleep, but not exactly consciousness either, when I am unaware of the onslaught of monotonous tasks and responsibilities that await me. But this state never lasts, and it is only a matter of time before I come crashing down to reality.
As I was savoring those last sweet seconds of oblivion this morning, however, I felt a sinking sensation in my gut. This feeling was by no means foreign, and often follows those scarce moments of bliss, yet this instance was more intense than usual.
I checked my phone, and it was then that I realized the cause for this sinking sensation. It was 10:57 a.m. My flight home began boarding at 9:11, a rather-on-the-nose time. I had 13 missed calls and 37 unread messages in the PDX Uber-pool group chat. It seemed I would be spending winter break at Lewis & Clark.
I rolled myself a joint and went for a walk. All I could focus on was the vacuum left by the lack of people. There was no scent of cigarettes being smoked by Bon employees on their break. No sight of multicolored tails bouncing on the way to class. I heard not a single white person grossly misusing AAVE. There was no feeling of Pio spirit anywhere.
After I felt I had moped sufficiently, I returned to my desolate home in Holmes. In an attempt to make my situation seem less hopeless, I took over the main lounge and put on the holiday classic “Home Alone.” While pondering my predicament, I heard a rustling at the door. In a moment of panic, I turned off the TV and scrambled to hide behind the couch.
Just as I squeezed between the furniture and the door, the main entrance swung open, revealing two men clad in Campo uniforms. I could not afford to be caught. Literally. I could barely afford the flight I missed, let alone winter break housing.
The men looked to be in their mid-40s. One was long and lanky with scruffy hair, while the other was short, stout and bald. They tried a few dorm doors, then entered mine, which I had left unlocked. I crept down the hall, listening.
“Well, it doesn’t look like anyone’s here,” said Scruffy.
“No shit, Sherlock,” retorted Baldy.
“Goddamn this place is a mess, these kids ever hear of a vacuum?”
They began rummaging through belongings. Could Campo do that? Maybe they used to be cops.
“Shit, I thought these were supposed to be a bunch of spoiled rich kids. Everyone here is even broker than us!” whined Scruffy.
“It’s their parents who have the money, these kids spend all their allowance on weed.”
“Speak of the devil, we’ve got some of his lettuce right here,” Scruffy picked up a mason jar of triangle kush. He took the lid off, stuck his hairy nose in the jar, and took a long whiff.
“That’s some gas right there, I gotta try this,” Scruffy reached for my grinder, but Baldy slapped him and took the mason jar.
“You dolt, we’re here for business! We can take all the kids’ weed and sell it for $70 an eighth to the idiots over at Reed! They’d probably wanna buy it even more if they knew it was stolen from Lewis & Clark kids.”
He cackled as he walked out the door, Scruffy sulking behind him. I could not let this happen. You can call us spoiled, that is true enough. You can call our rooms messy, I cannot argue with that. But taking our weed is where I draw the line. I had to stop them, and more importantly, I needed to get that mason jar back. I wanted to protect my tree, sure, but it was also a nice jar.
But first, I needed a plan.
The first step was to get them out of Holmes before they could steal anyone else’s flower. I turned back on the TV, maxed out the volume, and fast-forwarded to the scene of Kevin eating ice cream and watching rubbish. By the time it had gotten to the “Keep the change, ya filthy animal!” line, the pair of dunces were screaming and falling all over themselves to get out the side door. I looked out the window until I saw Scruffy and Baldy stumbling over themselves to escape Holmes and enter Hartzfeld. It was time to begin preparing my attack.
I set my first trap in the elevator. The button for the first floor was already broken, and once I left, so were the rest, except for the button for the fifth floor. Next, I gathered together all the lube I could find in unlocked rooms and poured it over the stairs, sprinkling some thumbtacks from the student store for good measure.
I took my room key and put it on the stove in the kitchen and turned the heat on. Then, I clogged the sink drain with used tampons I had pilfered from the bathroom and turned on the faucet. Finally, I scrounged together all the lost socks and underwear in the laundry room and tied them together, fashioning myself a makeshift rope. I gathered all the Bon cutlery I had in my room and tied it to the end of the rope as a weight. I opened my window, tied one side of the rope to the windowsill, grabbed the bundle of cutlery, and hurled it onto the roof of Hartzfeld. Last, I locked my door. Now, all I could do was wait.
I still had some bud that had yet to be plundered, so I figured I might as well smoke it now. Partially to pass the time, but in truth, I was setting the bait for my trap, and it worked like a charm. When Scruffy and Baldy walked out of Hartzfeld, Scruffy immediately stuck his nose in the air and began sniffing.
“I can smell more Mary Jane coming from that building! We gotta go back!” said Scruffy
“It’s not worth the risk, if it’s getting smoked that means someone’s in there,” replied Baldy
“Aw c’mon, you scared of a kid who goes to a liberal arts school? Be a man! It could be a girl! What if she’s one of those hot they/thems?”
At that, Baldy relented.
“It’s all coming together,” I whispered to myself.
I heard one of them slip and fall, and the other taunting him. Moments later, I heard a scream of pain come from the voice of the taunter. Thumbtacks never fail. Eventually, they found their way to the elevator and pushed the one button still there. I could hear Scruffy crawling on all fours, tracking the scent of my loud. Eventually, they made their way to my door. The handle jiggled violently, but to no avail.
“I think I saw a key in the kitchen,” said Baldy
Their shuffling footsteps got further from my door until I heard Baldy yell “Here it is!” shortly followed by a scream of pain. A few moments later, I heard the sploosh of him dunking his hand in the sink full of water, immediately followed by another scream.
“What the hell is this shit?!? My hand’s covered in blood!” yelled Baldy.
“Stop being a baby,” Scruffy said, who then must have grabbed the key, because he too screamed in pain and plunged his hand into the sink.
They made their way back to my door and began fumbling with the key, which I could hear them dropping over and over due to their slimy, burned fingers.
They finally shoved the key into the lock and turned it, opening the door. I stuffed my scissors in my pocket and grabbed a bundle of coat hangers from my closet. I gave them one last look before hooking the hangers to my makeshift zipline and jumping out the window.
I landed on the roof of Hartzfeld and looked back to see Baldy attempting to cross the zipline using his hands, while Scruffy dangled below him, hugging his legs for dear life.
“You guys are pretty high, I don’t think you need any more za!” I gloated.
I took the scissors out of my pocket and cut the line. I expected them to hold the line until they swung back and collided with the wall of Holmes, before harmlessly falling to the ground — but I forgot to take into account their burned and bloody hands. Baldy immediately lost his grip and both he and Scruffy plummeted to the ground, splattering the pavement with a sickening crunch. I stood there dumbfounded. Eventually, I made my way back to Holmes.
I took two pairs of old shoes and made my way to Forest. I looked up at the virginity tree by Spruce, tied both pairs of shoes together, threw them up on a branch of the tree and sighed. In under twenty-four hours, my body count had gone from zero to two. College really is the best years of your life.
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