TMI Thursday: How Did That Get There?

People, it’s time again. I’m making my second foray into the depths of TMI Thursday. Prepare yourself for yet another adventure of Cheddar and Bunkmate. This is more her TMI than mine, but, honestly, I don’t think you are prepared for the TMIs I have for you. Maybe next week.

As you likely know, college can be a crazy time, especially if you live mere minutes from the beach in a slum community featuring about 15,000 students crammed into about 2 square miles. With those kind of numbers and alcohol mixed in, things can escalate from “gathering of friends” to “raging party” to “where did my pants go?” to “are they having an orgy” in a matter of minutes.

I’ll freely admit that my senior year as a Gaucho was comprised mostly of drunken debauchery with a little work (where we also drank heavily) and class mixed in for good measure. So the “nights that will live in infamy” are many from that year.

The TMI in question was just another one of those nights our senior year. Bunkmate and her lovely decolletage were on the prowl. It’s probably a sign that I had a good time because I have no idea what occasion we were celebrating. Either way, we were partying.

As the night wound down, it was clear that Bunkmate had found her special someone to bring back to the bunkhouse (which in another life was a kitchen, I’m sure that counter came in handy sometime). This gentleman was in or just out of the Air Force and there’s nothing like an All-American boy with a buzz cut to get Bunkmate all riled up.

The two went off to the bedroom and I made sure to occupy myself in the living room for the duration. After I got the “all clear” signal, I headed off to bed, knowing I had to get up to don my non-marking tennis shoes and head to my job as a cart wrangler bagger at a grocery store. Yeah, good times. Anyway, it was off to dreamland for me.Upon waking the next morning, it became very clear to me that those two had had a fabulous time the night before. As my vision cleared and I crawled off the top bunk, I noticed something hanging from the blinds on the random outside door that was blocked by our bunkbed. I didn’t pay much attention to it and ran off to the shower. However, the object caught my attention again after I got dressed and was ready to head out the door.

Climbing back up the ladder to get a closer look, I realized, much to my horror that the “object” hanging from the blinds was in fact a used condom. Not kidding. After getting over the complete shock of it, I began to wonder just how the thing had gotten to its current location. If you can picture it, the bunkbed was against the wall where the door was located with only inches of space between the blinds and the bunks. Thus, it made me very curious how a condom could accidentally get from the bottom bunk to the top of the blinds.The only clear answer to this conundrum was some sort of flinging or shooting action, rubberband style. Yes, the Air Force boy shot a used condom into the air, perhaps in celebration?

Either way, it was there, hanging from the blinds like some sort of serial killer’s calling card or an animal carcass. Unfortunately, I didn’t have much time to collect myself before heading out the door for work, so, giggling like a schoolgirl, I wandered into the living room to find Bunkmate watching cartoons. Probably without making eye contact because I was acting like a 4-year-old, I blurted out, “I’m going to work. If you could get the condom off the blinds in our room before I come home, that would be great!” (Alternatively, I could have reenacted the condom-kleenex-trashcan scene from Blue Crush, but I’m guessing she wouldn’t have gotten the reference. Plus, I don’t own a Hawaiian maid uniform).

The look of horror and shock and embarrassment on Bunkmate’s face was priceless. It was like I just told her that her dad had seen her doing body shots while snorting coke and giving someone a hand job. Although, I hope that bursting out laughing as I skipped off to work made her feel a little better about it. As requested, the “evidence” was removed by the time I got back.

And that kids, is the story of “The Rubber on the Blinds.”

Moral: Never shoot used condoms in the air in triumph after sex because you never know where they’re going to stick.

I’d like to say thanks to Bunkmate for being a good sport about it. And for cleaning it up. Likewise, she’ll have the last laugh next week. Trust me.