I dated more in college than I remembered. Problem is, I was asked out by guys who didn't interest me and who were not high status. It's thrilling to be asked out by someone everyone wants. Not so thrilling to be asked out by a somewhat loser-y guy. If a SLG asks you out and has confidence you will say yes, what does that say about you? Water seeks its own level, etc., etc. I wanted the cool, cute guys to want me. But they didn't. They wanted my roommate, Anita, who had no interest in them because she had a boyfriend at OU (whom she eventually married). Everyone wants what they can't have.
Anita's brother, Boyd, was a sophomore at Small Private School. He had a friend, Clark, who, as many other upperclassmen, saw the freshmen women as fresh meat. We (the women) realized later that the upperclassmen who wanted to date us had been rejected by the upperclass women. At the time, though, we thought we were hot stuff because we were getting so much attention.
Clark was definitely a guy whom the upperclass women had found wanting, probably because he had a big drinking problem, even at that young age. Who wants to be with someone who might throw up on her or someone else? Hence, his targeting of us. Through Boyd, he met Anita's friends. He asked each of us out. Either I was the only one dumb enough to say yes or he got to me last after the others refused to go out with him a second time. Anita, who reads this blog, might remember and provide some details.
We went out. To a play on campus, I think. Then he walked me back to my room (he was enough of a gentleman to do that). No kissing, thank goodness. I was ready for him to leave, but he didn't go. How does one, especially when one is 18 years old and very inexperienced in these things, get rid of a date who won't leave?
My roommates were watching Saturday Night Live. I joined them and Clark, uninvited, joined us. This, I thought, is a good time to get out my knitting, a hobby I have had off and on since my mom taught me to knit when I was seven. We sat in the dim light, watching TV, knitting.
The door was open: our rooms were air-conditioned to heck and the only way not to freeze was to let in the warm air from outside. Completely environmentally irresponsible and you would think that with all those engineering brains on campus, they could have come up with a better way to regulate dorm temperatures, but considering it was possible to open our locked dorm rooms with a spoon,* it was clear that not a lot of thought had gone into building design.
Some guys we knew passed the open door.
We're going to see the Rocky Horror Picture Show, they announced. Y'all want to go?
I jumped up. "Yes!"
Anita and Heather glared at me. Clark didn't budge at my news. I dropped my knitting, got my purse, and fled.
Almost 30 years later, Anita and Heather are still mad at me about that.
* Small Private School is on a main Big City road, across from the medical center that has one of the best trauma units in the country because of all the gunshot wounds they treat. In other words, an area that attracts some bad actors. There were at least two rapes and one murder on campus during my time there. And yet, our doors could be opened with a spoon?