So Fridays are usually a pretty slow day at work. Add to that, I just finished doing our month and quarter-end filings for clients and was picking up the stragglers so it makes for a pretty relaxed day. Because of that I had a chance to peek at my WP reader for a little while this morning as I sipped on coffee.
Coincidentally on my Reader there were two bloggers who wrote about something rather traumatizing (and lived to later laugh about it). Allegra – writing about why she had to throw away her Morp dress. Crystal wrote about the pitfalls of living with two male roommates. In that post she pinged InNateJames about his post on morning grogginess and his inability to filter what comes out of his mouth sometimes.
I thought maybe there was a ZeroToHero assignment I’d missed on writing about a traumatic moment.
Yes and no. There was an assignment but coincidentally they all three happened to be of an “it’s funny now” variety.
So while we’re all sharing, I thought I’d add a story of my own into the hat of trauma.
So nearly three decades ago (WOW, that is a long time ago) I was a freshman in college. I had been paired as a roommate in the dorm with a transfer student who was pretty much the opposite of me. He was 6’7″. I am not. I am 5’3″ Yes… I really am that short and male. He, at 24, was older (for a college student) and I was 18. He had a girlfriend (actually fiance) I did not. He was an athlete. I was scrawny and skinny. He was a clean cut, all-American fratboy type. I was a long-hair, hispanic, music major geekazoid.
After a week or so we find that we actually get along and he assumed a big brother role of sorts and dispenser of all things I should know about college: like… how to properly do a shooter, the best technique for playing quarters, the best pick up lines, how I should dress to get
more any girls to notice me. Now that I think about it… pretty much everything he thought was important to teach me about college had to do with partying and/or meeting girls. Continue reading