My blog-friend joeh (aka Mr. Cranky), over at The Cranky Old
Man, recently posted about some college-prank hijinks from his own college days, back
in the previous century. Which reminded me of some of my own collegiate
prankish-ness from back in the day (but more recently than Joe's). As it
turns out, I already posted on this, almost eight years ago, so I hope you will
indulge me this re-post. I mean, I'm doing it for you, and your enjoyment. . .
*************************
I don't know what it
was like where any of you all went to school, but at my school, pranks are a
time-honored tradition, ranging in complexity from the simple 'pennying-in' (in
which the prankster(s) wedges pennies between the prankee's door and the door
frame, thus causing greatly-increased friction between the tongue of the latch
and its corresponding hole in the frame, rendering it impossible to turn the
door knob), or removing the microphone from the prankee's phone (this was a
function of the old-style cord-phones with a handset; the prank became much
more prankish when followed up by a call to the prankee's phone), or
'beer-canning', in which a 'wall' of beer cans was constructed, leaning
slightly into the prankee's door, so that when the door is opened, the cans
fell loudly onto the linoleum-tile floor, all the way up to considerably more,
um, elaborate pranks.
The stories at my school have come down through the
generations - the time a group of guys disassembled their buddy's Volkswagen
and reassembled it in his dorm room, for example. Or the guys who, when their
buddy went home for the weekend, removed all the furniture from his room, and
replaced it with a patch of sod and a small tree; when they went down to the
river that flows through the middle of the campus and kidnapped a duck, which
they then leashed to the tree, the prank was complete, and awaited only the
prankee's return to his room. Being a loyal member of the student body, I tried
to do my part to carry on the grand tradition. Two pranks in particular stand out
on my resume. You would be very kind to indulge my retelling of them. . .
-------------------------
In my freshman dorm,
there were various groups of guys who tended to hang out together on the
weekends. One group of guys usually went out to hit the bars, staying until the
bar closed (those were the days when 18 was the legal drinking age in Michigan,
so virtually all college students were legal drinkers). I was usually in with a
group of guys who played Hearts or Risk until the wee hours. So that, when the
bar-hoppers returned to the dorm around 3AM, we were usually the only ones
still awake to greet them.
One such night, we were just finishing a game of Risk when
the bar-guys returned, loud and boisterous. We left our game briefly to
exchange greetings. One guy, named Mike, was particularly, shall we say, worse
for wear. We watched as Mike staggered down the hall toward his room at the far
end of the hall, bouncing off one wall and then the other, until, about
two-thirds of the way there, he passed out in the middle of the hall.
Now, at this point I should tell you that the particular
dorm I was living in was something like a 'science dorm'; which, for purposes
of this story, meant that many of us shared the same classes. Which became the
immediate occasion for the hatching of our prank. As we stood in the hall
contemplating Mike's prone-and-unconscious form (which may or may not have been
drooling on the floor), it came together.
We quickly returned to our rooms and switched from our
Friday-night casual attire (which, in the men's wing of our dorm, involved more
skivvies than some of you might want to think about) into our more everyday
going-to-class clothes (by the mid-70s the distinction could be pretty subtle,
but it was there). Grabbing armloads of textbooks, we gathered around Mike's
unconscious form and shook him awake. "Mike!" we yelled. "Are
you still here?!? Wake up, man! We've got a Chemistry mid-term in 20 minutes!
You just slept through the whole weekend, man!"
Mike, now awake, but not appreciably less drunk than he'd
been fifteen minutes previously, stared back at us, uncomprehending.
"Huh?" he said. So we repeated our line, and slowly, our message
seeped into Mike's consciousness. "Are you shitting me?" he inquired (we were, but we weren't about to tell him we were).
"No, man - you slept through the whole weekend, and now we've got a
mid-term in 20 minutes!" Mike was exceedingly dismayed as this knowledge
worked its way into his brain. Rising to his feet, he began cursing himself.
"Aw, MAN! I can't believe I did that! I didn't study at all!
I'm gonna fail for sure!" Staggering the rest of the way to his room, he
stripped and got into the shower (which he set at something like 32.6 degrees
Fahrenheit), in a forlorn attempt to wake up and/or sober up. A steady stream
of loud expletives emanated from his shower.
In the meantime, our merry band of pranksters returned to
our rooms and reverted to our more 'skivvy-ish' Friday-night attire, then
wandered slowly down toward Mike's room. Finding him in the icy shower, we
professed our confusion - "Mike, what are you doing? It's 3 o'clock
Saturday morning!" Mike looked back at us, still not notably soberer than
he'd been when he got there. Slowly, the realization dawned on him that he'd
been had. And, in his drunken haze, that realization enraged him. He charged
out of the shower, chasing us all down the hall. But of course, he was still
drunk. Besides which, he was dripping wet, and running on a linoleum floor. So he didn't chase us far before he
slipped and fell, right up against a door that someone else had helpfully
beer-canned earlier, thus causing the intended metallic racket (it just hadn't
necessarily been intended for him). It was all too much for poor
drunken Mike to deal with, and he burst into tears, creating one of the more
pathetic scenes to which I have ever been a witness - a drunk, naked, wet guy, sobbing
in the middle of a pile of beer cans. . . Or is that just mean of me?
-------------------------
A couple years later, I was living in a different dorm with
my buddy, let's call him Alex. Early in the spring, we had one of those delightful
unseasonably-warm days, the kind where people throw open their windows just to
smell the fresh air for the first time since before the winter. Adjacent to our
dorm was a women's dorm, and that very fact was more than some of the young men
in our dorm could handle. One pair of guys in particular were especially rude
and crude, keeping up a steady loud stream of obscenities directed toward the
young ladies next door.
After enduring this stream of vulgarity for as long as we
figured we could (and longer than we figured we should have to), Alex and I
hatched a plan. Looking out our window, we ascertained the room from which the obnoxiousness
was emanating. In fact, the guys would lean out their window whenever they
would yell at the girls. So Alex, who had a bit of the daredevil in him, climbed
up onto the roof from the balcony at the end of our floor, and I passed a
bucket of water up to him. The plan, such as it was, was that, the next time
our guys leaned out their window to yell at the girls next door, Alex would
douse them. I watched from our window as Alex took his position, lying with his
head and shoulders just over the edge of the roof, waiting for our prey to
reappear. Except they never did. Apparently their mood had passed. So Alex and
I decided to abort the plan, and dump the bucket harmlessly onto the grass
below.
Except that, instead of dumping the bucket away from
the building, Alex dumped it inward, toward the building. So
that a cascade of water fell in through the still-open window of our erstwhile
disturbers-of-the-peace. At that point, the pace of events quickened
dramatically. In short order, two very angry guys came running up the stairway
to our floor, from the one below, where our 'friends' lived. First, they went
to the room directly above theirs, only to find a very bewildered resident with
closed, but very wet windows, wondering (a) why his windows were wet, and (b)
why these angry guys were banging on his door.
Alex, even from his rooftop vantage point, sensing that the moment
might not be opportune for him to climb back down onto the balcony,
nevertheless handed the bucket down to a freshman who lived in the room next
door to ours, and who was in some sympathy with our aims. So that, when the
still-angry guys from the floor below came back down the hall, wondering who
had doused their room, if the guy above them hadn't, they suddenly encountered
our young man holding a bucket on the balcony, providing them with a new target
for their rage. It turned out that they had a TV set in their room, which they
kept directly below the open window through which Alex had poured the contents
of our bucket. Or, by that point, I should more properly refer to it as a
former TV set, since the watery cascade had, as they say in the industry,
gazorped it. And they were ready to do some serious bodily harm to the poor kid
holding the bucket.
I knew it wouldn't be right to
let the kid take a beating for our misbegotten prank, so I casually wandered
out to 'see what the commotion was about', trying to adopt the role of
peacemaker, and, you know, 'defuse the situation'. Meanwhile, other guys were
running up and down the hall, breathlessly announcing that "There's
someone on the roof!" Which was sort-of working against my peacemaking,
defusing efforts, and moving the angry guys to suspect that my own motives
were, shall we say, less than pure.
Alex, meanwhile, had gone to the
other end of the dorm and climbed down to the balcony at the opposite end of
the building. So that he came sauntering down the hall from the opposite
direction, wondering what all the commotion was about. Perhaps they discerned
something a trifle ungenuine in his demeanor, but in fairly short order, he
became the new object of their wrath. The situation was touch-and-go for a
while, until one of the guys cooled down a little and convinced the other one
that beating the stuffing out of us wasn't worth the trouble, so they left and
went back to their room, while the three of us heaved a heavy sigh of relief.
When I explained the situation to Alex (he hadn't known about the blown TV), he
more clearly understood the nature of their wrath (of course, it also rekindled his glee, since perhaps our plan hadn't worked so badly, after all). So he went to the party
store across the street from the dorm, and bought a peace-offering of beer,
which he and I took to their room. They accepted it, and then told us to never
let them see our faces again. Which, so far as it depended on me, I was only
too happy to oblige. . .
-------------------------
The story didn't reach its final conclusion until a couple
months later. I was returning to the dorm after my last class of the day, and
there were three police cars, lights flashing, parked in front of our dorm. As
I stood there, wondering what was going on, the police emerged from the
building, with our two erstwhile victims in handcuffs. They put them into the
back seats of separate cars, and drove off, leaving me still wondering what had
happened. The next day's newspaper contained a front-page article describing a
major on-campus drug bust. Two guys had been arrested who were doing business on the order of $50,000/year (and these were honest-to-goodness mid-70s
dollars, not the meek little things we have today) out of their dorm room. And
then my eyes got real big when the article went on to note that the dorm they
were taken from was ours. After that, Alex and I got a huge laugh (with a hefty
dose of the willies mixed in) from the idea that we'd fritzed the TV of a
couple of major on-campus drug dealers. . .
