It's not enough to simply lock your bedroom door.
The story I told you about my 4 ridiculously messy roommates got me reminiscing about that (incredibly filthy, roach-infested) year we lived together. There was yet another lesson I learned from that time.
My roommates and I were all in ROTC...which might lead you to believe I'm a military chick, but that would only be true in the sketchiest sense. I was only in the Reserves, never the active Army, and I did it because it was either that or drop out of school after my sophomore year, since my mom could no longer afford my tuition, and the Army would pay it for those remaining two years. So I was in the Reserves and ROTC for my last two years of college, and after college I fulfilled my Reserve obligation and then got out. It was a great experience, and I had a lot of fun and learned a whole lot, but if you knew me you'd know that I am just not the military type. So I got out when my obligation was up, and went back to being the person of questionable morals and behavior that you've grown to love.
The ROTC department at my university was small--maybe 40 students in all, with only 4 or 5 instructors. The instructors were active Army people, not college professors. While the 7 or 8 seniors in my ROTC class did attend classes taught by the other ROTC instructors, we were primarily assigned to Cpt. Mitchell, while the juniors in ROTC had their own instructor, as did the sophomores and the freshmen. So the 7 or 8 of us seniors (including my roommates) spent the majority of our ROTC class time with Cpt. Mitchell, and we became very familiar with him. Maybe too familiar, as my story will illustrate.
One weekend there was a party at our house. I was not in attendance, since I had driven home for the weekend to see some friends, but apparently this was a hell of a party. Cpt. Mitchell was there, and had appointed himself bartender. He stationed himself by an open window and used a table as his bartop, where he poured tequila shots and basically badgered people into taking them. Every so often he would stick his head out the window and puke into our hapless bushes, then pour himself another shot and carry on, like a true soldier. By everyone's account, this was apparently a great party, probably largely due to the tequila shot pouring prowess of Cpt. Mitchell. When I returned on Sunday, my roommates looked like something that had crawled out of the sewer--each of them was sprawled on various pieces of furniture, moaning and squinting and retching and cursing God. I went into my room to drop my bags, and noticed my bed had been made--which was odd, since I hadn't made it before I left. In fact, I had locked my bedroom door before I'd left. I peered out my bedroom door into the adjacent room, addressed the crew of living dead and asked, "Who slept in my room?" Suddenly, life crept into the eyes of the roommates, who instantly looked guilty. They fumbled. "Um. Well.... Uh," looking from one to the other and back at the floor. I went back into my room and took the sheets and blankets off the bed, thinking the guilty looks of my roommates surely meant that someone had not just slept in there, but possibly banged a hooker or a farm animal, so I might as well wash sheets now and ask questions later.
That's when I saw the tighty whities.
The only thing worse than discovering that some unidentified couple had sex in your bed is discovering that they left their vile little undergarments there. And am I crazy, or would it have been better if it had been the girl that had left her underoos there? Somehow it was worse that it was men's underwear than women's. I wanted to burn my bed to the ground.
Now they had no choice but to tell me the story. Here are the incredibly seedy details:
Party ends at our place, guests crawl home. Cpt. Mitchell remains, and in spite of being so drunk that he has puked several times and looks like Charles Manson instead of the clean-cut Top Gun he had resembled at the start of the evening, he wants to go barhopping. Drunk roommates actually try to resist, but Mitchell insists--and he was, after all, our superior officer, and we were accustomed to taking orders from him. They go to a place so seedy that it actually has big, dark blue sheets thumbtacked up to cover the windows so that you can't see into it from the street. It looks like something you'd find in a warehouse district. Once inside, Cpt. Mitchell picks up some skank. He defiles the skank in my bed after picking the lock to get in, while my roommates stare wide-eyed at each other in the living room, unable to believe this turn of events.
But here's where the story gets even more madcap, more zany.
Our fearless leader and his skank fall asleep in my formerly bacteria-free bed. Just as daylight begins to break, there's a knock at the door. A hungover roommate peers out the window and realizes it's Cpt. Mitchell's wife! Everyone tries to ignore the knocking. She persists, then leaves--but returns again a few minutes later, banging even harder, crying, and calling "I know he's there! His car is parked right here!" Cpt. Mitchell scrambles into his clothes--most of them, anyway--instructs the girl to stay put and not make a sound, then sheepishly answers the door. His crying wife has the baby in her car; the family retreats to the Mitchell household, for what must surely have been a daylong crying and fighting session. (Let me also note that Mitchell had brought his wife to the states from Germany where he'd met her a few years before. She still had a thick accent and had no family here in the states.)
My roommates are then left with Cpt. Mitchell's...friend. Eventually someone takes her home, and soon I arrive to find the filthy evidence at the crime scene.
Naturally it would have made sense to throw his filthy little panties away. But I found his behavior nauseating, particularly since a big portion of his time spent training us to be leaders involved instructing us to behave with strong moral character. So I didn't want to let him off the hook so easily. I picked up his putrid little bloomers by hooking them onto the end of a pen (which I promptly disposed of) and put them into a paper bag, and delivered them to him as he sat at his desk Monday morning. He was embarrassed, horrified, ashamed, etc. I can't imagine a bigger scandal that could have rocked our small ROTC department. He had crossed a boundary by even attending the party--and then, of course, he bludgeoned several other boundaries plum to death. (And no, Cpt. Mitchell isn't his real name.)
The lesson: Locking your bedroom door is never enough when you live with a house full of guys. Someone will get resourceful and find a way to degrade themselves and someone else in your bed. Consider sprinkling glass shards in your bed before you leave for the weekend, or perhaps leaving a wolverine with newborn cubs under the comforter.
Wow. I'm trying to think of something pithy to say, but I just keep coming up with... Wow.
I'll pithy you later.
karla that was one heck of a story. i am glad us guys in the navy never got drunk like Cpt. Mitchell. we sure wouldn't want to make a fool of ourselves.
If it wasn't for the baby I would have gave his underware to his wife to wash.
Thats why I live alone.
I know it wasn't funny at the time, but it sure made for a hilarious story today. LOL!
Yeah it sucks when complete strangers root in your bed! Good on you for giving cpt mitchell his underwear back. He deserved every humiliating second of his shame.
Nothin' worse than finding skeevy skivvys.
(I think I may have out-pithed the Wombat!)
I'm glad you gave Cpt. Mitchell his drawers back. He needed to be embarrassed. I feel bad for Mrs. and Baby Mitchell. I don't even know how he could look at you and your class much less his wife.
I am already bored with school (only a week into the semester) so I will be returning here again. And again.
Awesome. Exceedingly gross, but awesome.
Eewwwwwww. I feel so bad for his poor wife. And for you and the ruined bed. Eeeewwwww.
damn that is insane I just kept going no and then two seconds later no. I could barely keep my eyes open to read
Shards of glass eh?
That was a great story but man, I would be PISSED! I'd make him buy me a new mattress or something!
Wow is right...
Great story, Ms. Babble. Tell me, is tequila now your drink of choice?
ah, those classy military types.
my step dad was a life-long service man, first the navy, then the army, so i know of what i speak.
Your stories are always great.
My sister's ex left town for a couple months and he lived with 4 other guys (sounds very similar-roach infested grody gross)and he locked his door.
During a party some guy broke into his room, puked and peed on his bed and then passed out.
I gotta know... What did you do with the sheets and blankets???????? Burn them? I think I would have been tempted to have put them in a separate bag from the drawers and then after presenting him with the drawers and seeing the look on his face, then give him the bag with the sheets.
Wow. It's almost not fair that one person should have so many great stories!
Who would've thought locking one's door was not enough to deter drunken skank sex. Damn men.
Did you ever sleep in the bed again? I don't think I could have, for all the bleach in the world. But gracias for a very funny story!
You never fail to amaze me...I'll email you about the job situation tonight. Love ya
You probably should have had a priest perform an exorcism in your bedroom.
Yea...lock that door. I don't know how many times I have been making out with my stuffed bunny rabbit...and my gay roomies walked in on me slipping the tongue!
No, I didn't use those sheets again. Now that you mention it, it would have been way more demeaning if I had given him a huge bag with all the sheets and blankets in it as well as his germy panties. Damnit! Hindsight sucks.
I think you should have made him buy you some new ones. I mean, after all, you were a college student!
I still got nothin'... Wow.
Oh, wow!! That's crazy. And, oh...so gross to have found his undies in your bed. ((shudder))
Hey, thanks for visiting my blog yesterday. I thought I'd come by to visit too. Great site and funny stories! LOL
O MY God!!
That poor, poor wife!! I'm fulll of, all sort, of, anger! I'd have killed him!
and ewwww...man pants in the bed. I'm glad you humiliated him...astard-bay deserved it.
I love you, you're just too cool!
Karla, I'm ashamed to admit that it's taken me several days to make my way over here after you posted a comment on my blog. Please accept my humblest and most heart felt apologies.
Damn glad I'm here now, though...this story was GREAT, and you rock. Having served for 23 years in the Navy, I've got a couple similar stories, myself. You handled it with aplomb, and you clearly have bigger balls than I ever had.
You are my new hero.
That's one heck of a lesson to learn :-s
I hope you are writing a book... your adventures are too much...thanks for another mind bending tale.
Hah!! What a great post...love the suggestion of the wolverine. I really like your blog!
That's hilarious, it couldn't be funnier if you'd made it all up! Thanks for sharing.
I'm not sure if the whore made the bed (yes, in my version of the story she was upgraded to "whore")... but I like to think that Cpt. Mitchell's military training kicked back in in the morning and he made the bed and put your shoes at the foot of it before running home to his soon-to-be ex wife.
You must have secret balls not only for joining the army... but also for delivering the used and abused undies. I don't judge your balls, I applaud them.
Thats my girl... bigger balls then any man I know!
You were talking about weird searches that lead to your blog. I have one: jude law nude sunbathing
I swear these words were not all in the same sentence.
you again...so here I am minding my own business...check my comments and blam... that beautiful smile appears... perfect...
will you marry me?
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