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Wherein the Tales are told which are both Interesting & Factual, none of them having anything to do with the abuse of any substances whatsoever OR Interesting & Factual Tales |
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After a hiatus of several months, we are proud to present the triumphant return of the Interesting & Factual Tales. The telling of these stories was originally inspired by the realization that too many stories being told by my contemporaries started out, “One time, when we were really drunk…” and if you’ve heard one of those stories, you’ve heard them all. Here are some equally entertaining yarns, not dependant on booze or drugs for entertainment value. What’s the story with the picture of Wordell and Dave? Ah, another time perhaps... |
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You thought that was good? Well, let me tell you a few more...
Click here for the “Volume 2” index and...
Follow this link to the index for Volume 1. |
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You have an equally entertaining Tale you think could fit in this space? Hey, send it on over. The two criteria are: 1) I know you, and 2) the Tale doesn’t have anything to do with chemical abuse. |
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“He Came In Through the Bedroom Window” |
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07.10.03 |
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My homeboy Dave Slotten will have to forgive me for some foggy details in this here Tale, as its climax is the part that I remember the best.
So let me set the table for you here: It’s late in the spring, 2001. Oshkosh, WI is getting greener by the day. As a young man or woman (man, in my case) walks around the UWO campus, students can be seeing frolicking about the grounds, throwing Frisbees, tearing through the pedestrian mall on roller blades, or simply bathing in the sun. Spring is a marvelous time of year, particularly in the northern states. The short days and frigid nights of winter give way to new life; college students that stayed in all through January and February and March are birthed by their front doors, joining nature in its bustle of activity.
This is true for all people who are not film students. Film students, I’m afraid, are banished to deep interior or basement studios in cinder block buildings until the very last day of the semester (and often beyond) putting the final wraps on projects. Such was the case for my roommates Wordy and Lorch. If memory serves correctly, and I’m sure it does, the school year was done and they were toiling away at the A/C. My other roomie Dave and I had little to do after work each day, so we enjoyed the gorgeous weather whenever we could and played basketball, usually outside South Gruenhagen Hall, a few short blocks from the house.
On the evening in question, I’m sure I won whatever game we played, because, let’s face it, Dave: I’m much better than you. We walked back home, and it wasn’t until we got to the door that we realized neither one of us had brought any keys along to the court. Well, this was an easy mistake to make, since both of our roommates had been home when we left — it’s easier for a man to remember his keys if he has to lock the door on the way out.
Well, now what are we gonna do? There are four keys to the apartment all together, two of them locked inside, the two others, somewhere. Seemed like we’d have to walk over to the A/C building, try to find Wordy or Lorch, then walk back.
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D-Slo: stuck in the midst of winter, but comforted by the confines of Oblio’s. |
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I could make a comment here about one of the things which, in retrospect, I’ve appreciated most about the relationships I had with my roommates. None of us ever argued about the fact that we were all A) stupid, and B) ugly. This sort of agreement made the walk over there (a walk about 2.5 times greater than to the basketball court), when all either one of us really wanted to do was take a shower, relatively stress-free. I cannot at this time recall what was said between us verbatim, but the conversation could easily have gone down as follows: |
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BKO: God, Dave, you’re so stupid. DAVE: I know. BKO: Why didn’t you bring your keys? DAVE: Why didn’t you bring yours? BKO: Stupid? DAVE: You’re damn right! BKO: Yeah, you’re right, I’m a moron. DAVE: ….. BKO: Well what the hell did they lock the door for? DAVE: They’re assholes? BKO: Yeah… |
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So we got to the A/C, and we walked around that West wing pretty thoroughly, and we couldn’t find either one of our mates anywhere. And I mean, we seriously looked in just about every room that they could logically, reasonably be in. Nothin. So here we are, it’s knockin’ on 7:30, we’re wearing our sweaty basketball clothes, we haven’t had dinner, we don’t have any money with us (or we could’ve just gone to Kelly’s for a few hours and waited) and we now remember that they’d only said they “might” or “should” go the A/C, something along those lines. No telling how long until someone gets back. Did I mention neither of us had our phones?
So then we walk back to the house, hoping maybe somebody showed up there in the interim, and no one had. Well, what the hell are we going to do? I forget which one of us had the idea that we might just break in, but we agreed that it was a spectacular one. As fortune would have it, my bedroom window was open. The only thing impeding our entrance was a pesky screen. And what’s a screen, really? It’s nothing! Fortunately, at this late-spring time of year, there is also a lot of turnover of residence in the neighborhoods of college students, thus plenty of trash (like furniture, mirrors, and the like) around the dumpster behind our house. I also don’t quite recall what we used the cut the screen open, but imagine, if you will, the picture of me boosting Dave Slotten the eight or so extra inches he needed to fit through a nine-inch opening of my bedroom window.
All that walking and all the searching we’d done around the A/C, and start to finish, Operation Bust Through The Window And Let Bocko In took less than five minutes.
I don’t remember how long it was until Wordy or Lorch got home that day, I was just glad to get the shower. |