When I first moved to DC at the beginning of the year -- in an effort to both get my bearings and save money -- I worked as an RA for one of the universities that has a satellite campus in the area in exchange for free housing. While I'm forever indebted to the university for extending me the opportunity, it sort of goes without saying that being 26 and dorm life don't exactly go hand in hand.
The building had unbelievable restrictions about overnight guests. On one hand, it could be argued that the restrictions were protective safeguards. On the other, they were truly outrageous: forms needed to be filled out at least 24 hours in advanced, signed by all your suite-mates, then approved by the building. Within that there were a whole litany of other rules that were guest-specific with regards to duration of stay and frequency of visits. I almost felt bad for the kids because it made an outside random hookup absolutely impossible. I'll go as far as to say that the building itself was perhaps the greatest cock block of all time.
On a random Tuesday night, I was the RA on duty and the guard calls me at 1:30am to summon me down to the front desk because one of the residents (Katrina) brought home some guy (Michael Fink) who did not have overnight permissions and was to have left the building by 1am but hadn't.
(As an aside, Michael Fink is the greatest antagonist name for this story. Ever.)
I'm irritated. I have to wake up in the morning. And I don't need any reminders -- especially at 1am -- of how charmed it is to be in college again. Moreover, I really don't care who stays over in the building but at this point I'm so furious for having been roused from deep sleep that I've decided there's no way I'm letting anyone do anything. (My mom says this is a good indication of what kind of parent I'll be.)
Michael Fink wanders down the stairs smelling like someone doused him with a bottle of rubbing alcohol and then hosed him down with Vladamir. Hilarity ensues:
TheBarmaid: Fink?
Fink: (rubbing eyes) Yeah?
TheBarmaid: You can't spend the night.
Fink: Oh...ok.
TheBarmaid (concerned): You aren't driving, right?
Fink: Oh...no.
TheBarmaid: Ok, then you have to go.
Fink: Oh....word.
TheBarmaid: Word.
(Fink ambles to the door and stumbles out into the dark night.)
(Enter Katrina.)
TheBarmaid: Fink had to go.
Katrina: Oh....
Guard (who woke me up in the first place to boot Fink and at this point has no right to interject anything): Well, it's actually up to TheBarmaid if he stays or goes. She CAN let him stay...
TheBarmaid: Um, no it's not up to me. Getting permission to have someone send the night is like being released from Azkaban -- too much red tape. And it's 1:30 in the morning. And you woke me up.
Katrina (staring longingly towards the door): Oh...I just...hope he's ok.
TheBarmaid: Katrina? I assure you: he's ok.
Katrina (whose hair, if I haven't mentioned it, was totally JBF): Well, it's just that...
TheBarmaid: Katrina? Unless he's dying and sleeping with you was the antidote to that death, I assure you -- he's ok.
Katrina stares me down, partly wondering if I'm allowed to talk to her like that (which, I'll admit, I'm probably not), and partly narrowing her eyes and cursing me with a life of ever-lasting chastity.
This is when a normal person would stop talking. I continue.
TheBarmaid: I promise you, Katrina, in my 26 years on this earth, I've never seen anyone die as a result of unfulfilled desire.
And with that, Katrina fled the building and followed her Michael Fink into the dark night.
