Fred was a few years older than me, but went to the same school I did: Boston University.
Now, Fred lived in West Campus in one of the 3 Mini Towers. For those of you not familiar with BU, there's East Campus and West. The bulk of classrooms and school buildings is in the East and a lot more housing is in the West. Although, there is a giant dorm in the East called Warren Towers, but whatever. You get my point. And the T, Boston's subway, runs the length of East to West. It's separated by a mini bridge and about a half a mile of street.
So, the story begins as Fred sits in one of his mandatory freshman classes in East Campus. As the professor labors on and on about Irish History, Fred begins to feel the effects of a burrito lunch. He realizes that, well to be crass, he's got to take a shit. Happens to the best of us.
But, Fred has a problem. He can't shit in any toilet other than the one he uses everyday in his dorm. Fred's fucked up like that.
Now, in his dorm Fred has a crush. I don't know her name, but let's go with Miranda. Fred sees Miranda every day and they never say a word. He's a awkward freshman guy and she's a really attractive freshman girl who's bombarded with upperclassman date proposals. So, all Fred does is stare at her and fantasize about her. And probably jerk it to her freshman face book picture. I don't know if the last part is true, but if you knew Fred, you'd assume it for sure. Fred's fucked up like that.
Fred excuses himself from his lecture row and makes his way out of the building. He's on the verge of a massive accident in the building lobby, but will not use the bathroom starring him in the face. He's determined to hold it in and make it home.
He steps outside, ass cheeks clenched tighter than a newbie in prison and sees the T approaching. And for a moment, Fred thinks "Oh, happy day. The T will take me home, zero effort, and I'm in my home bathroom in 5 minutes."
Fred struggles but manages to get to the subway platform. Then, the T rolls up and Fred sees that it's PACKED TO THE BRIM with people. And Fred thinks, "Fuck that."
Fred decides that he'll start walking, as best he can, and wait for the next T, which comes every few minutes.
So, Fred is now walking, ass cheeks still clenched tight, down Commonwealth Avenue praying that he doesn't shit his pants.
Another T arrives, Fred walks to the platform, but quickly backs up when he sees that this one is even tighter than before. I would've said "tighter than his ass" but I think I've done my fair share of "tight ass" jokes. You get my point.
He keeps walking. And walking. And walking. And finally... just as he's on the verge of ruining his pants... he comes to his dorm lobby. Fred is now a mess. His shirt soaked with sweat and the fear of absolute public humiliation.
He nears his dorm lobby, swipes his ID card, and heads for the elevator. Now, Fred, at this point, is one part elated... his nightmare seemingly on the cusp of ending... and, one part terrified... in all honesty, he may still shit his pants.
He presses the UP button on the elevator like 9 times.
Finally, the RED LIGHT lights up that the elevator has arrived. The doors open and who should stand in front of him, starring him in the eyes, but... of course... Miranda.
She smiles.
He whimpers.
She's exits as he bolts inside the elevator, almost knocking into her in the process.
He presses his floor button...
He waits for the door to close...
When...
Miranda turns around and says she left something upstairs.
Fred cursed his luck... Standing in an elevator with the girl he'd been jerking off to for the last three weeks, an opportunity of a lifetime to actually talk to her, and yet he was dripping with sweat in his attempt to not become a cautionary tale for all college freshman everywhere. His greatest fear was probably ending up on some friend's blog for all to see. Sorry, Fred.
Miranda opened the conversation up and began to talk. It was something simple: "How's your day going?"
Fred responded with this: "Hmphf... Good."
The "Hmphf" sound could be compared to the sound you make when your dentist revs up his drill. Or, really the sound you would make a second before you shit your pants in an elevator with a hot poster girl.
Miranda didn't notice though. She continued: "I'm Miranda."
Fred: "Fr--ed." He had to take a momentary pause between the syllables in his name.
Miranda: "Yeah, I know. I've seen you around."
Fred smiled. Sort of. Well, the important thing is that she thought he smiled.
Miranda: "We should hang out sometime. Grab a coffee or something."
Fred: "Yeah!" That time he was extremely emphatic... maybe too emphatic.
Miranda: "Great. I'll give you my number."
And Fred watched as Miranda pulled out a piece of paper and scribbled down her number. She smiled as she handed it over to him just as the elevator door opened up on her floor. Miranda winked, flipped her hair, and walked away.
And as Fred stood in that elevator holding Miranda's phone number in his hand, his face beaming with excitement, he realized something...
... Sometimes the worst moments of our lives can become some of our favorites. Sometimes things aren't as bad as you think they are. And sometimes... when you're on the verge of shitting your pants and you yell "Yeah!" real loud and excitedly... you'll shit your pants. Which is exactly what Fred did.
But, holy shit was it worth it.
Until Another Day...
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