Date: Thu, 11 Nov 1993 00:04:57 -0600 (CST)
From: <mep119>
Sender: mep119
Message-Id: <298.mep119@email.psu.edu>
To: mep119
Subject: RE: The fall of Carl, Part I

     Last Saturday my roommate Carl's friend Tom came up from Maryland for the weekend.
That night, I was planning to go to some apartment and watch the Tyson fight on pay per view,
but the guy didn't come through with the fight or the 'refreshments', so we ended up doing just
about nothing and I went to bed around 1, thinking that I would be able to catch up on some sleep
before Carl, Tom and Will (his other friend from home who goes to school here) got back.

     At 1:30 Carl comes knocking on the door.  I reach down and open it, annoyed because it is
unlocked.  He and Tom are carrying Will and throw him on the bed.  Carl takes out his key and
tries to lock the door from the inside.

Me:  No, Carl you don't use the key to lock the door on this side- just turn the knob.
Carl:  Oh, thank you.  Thank you so much.
Me:  No problem.
C:  I have to spit, but I know you don't want me spitting on the floor, and you know, respect between
      roommates, that's what it's all about- so I'm just gonna spit on my shirt.

[He lifts up his shirt and begins to spit on it]

Me:  You could use the trash can.
C:  No, I'm fine.

[Tom, who has been standing in the doorway, walks to the back of the room,
trips on a chair and goes down hard]

Me:  Are you all right?
Tom:  Quaaaaaa ssssssssh (snoring sounds)

[Carl slouches against the wall, still occasionally spitting on himself]

Me:  Are you going to throw up?
C:  Naw, I just need to spit.
Me:  Well, a lot of times before you throw up you feel like you have to spit.

[I hand him the trash can.  Carl spits in it several times then sets it
aside and vomits on himself.]

C:  Water, get me some water.

[I get him a mug of water.  Carl takes a sip and drops it into the inch deep puke in the bottom of the trash can]

C:  I don't want my buds to trow up, so I'munna thow up for them.  I don't
   really understand why, but now I have to throw up for every one on this
   campus who's drunk right now.

[And he did too.  He hurled astonishing quantities of pink puke (through the
mouth and nose) into and around the trash can]

C:  Now I have to take a shit.
Me:  Noooo.  Not here.
C:  Of course not.

[I watch as Carl zig-zags down the hall to the bathroom.  After several
minutes I walk down to check things out.  I open the door and am greeted by
a wave of pink liquid flowing out of the third stall.  Carl emerges from
the stall, soaked in pink, with a chunk partially visible in one of his
nostrils.  His jeans are around his ankles and he is unable to walk]

RA (whose room is directly across the hall from the bathroom):   I'd better call my boss.

C:  [motioning to his jeans] Matt, get these off me- I can't move.

Me:  I'm not touching those things.

RA:  Just don't let him in my room.

[Carl manages to free himself from his jeans, makes his way back to the
room and passes out on the floor.  A crowd of three or four RA's has
gathered to look on.  A wise ass passerby looks into the room, sees the 3
of them sleeping and asks the RA’s, "What are you doing, watching their dreams?"]

RA #2:  Matt, you should probably get your stuff and find someplace else to sleep tonight; it
might get ugly in here later.

RA:  Matt, my boss said someone will have to watch them until quarter to two, and better you than me.

Me:  Dough!

[I chill on the top bunk for about and hour (having long since moved all my
possessions to higher ground and abandoned any hope for the carpet).
Everything is calm (except for the intermittent convulsions that accompany
Carl's dry heaves) until Tom, who hasn't moved a muscle since he collapsed
on the floor unleashes a mighty yak, impressive even considering the three or
so hours it took to brew.]

RA:  How's everything going?

[I update him.]

RA:  (suddenly annoyed)  Carl, do you realize that you're sleeping in your own puke?

[Carl doesn't react]

RA:  CARL.  CARL.

[Carl lifts his head slightly]

RA:  Look at yourself-  you threw up all over.

[Carl looks around briefly in his semi conscious daze and sees nothing]

RA:  To your left.

[Carl goes back to sleep]

RA:  Get up.  Start cleaning this up.  This is disgusting Carl.

(it was humorous to see the RA try to yell at Carl in the same way it is
amusing to reason with a dog.  Ed, from downstairs, later suggested that we should have rubbed
Carl's nose in the vomit and said firmly, 'bad Carl'.)

RA:  (turning to me) what should I do?

Me:  You're the RA.

RA:  That's just a title- I don't know what to do.  (he leaves and comes back)  I called police services.
They'll take a look at Tom and decide if we need an ambulance.

[officer comes and radios for ambulance.  Paramedics enter after a time and
Carl rouses himself to help out by giving names of the unconscious and
other information that may be helpful.]

Paramedic:  (bending down over Tom) Matt,  Matt, what have you been drinking tonight, buddy.

Me:  Who me?  Oh, that's Tom down there.

[Medics carry Tom out to stretcher]

Medic:  Tom, have you been doing any drugs tonight besides alcohol, we have to know for your own safety.

Tom: (uttering his first and only words of the evening in a weak whisper)-  No cops, no cops.

Paramedic:  (unwrapping a metal bowl and placing it in Tom's lap)- If you're gonna hurl:  hurl in this (or something to that effect).

[Tom immediately throws up into the bowl]

Paramedic:  That's right.

[exit Tom]
 

<<<<intermission>>>>>
 

This story takes a hell of a lot  longer to write than it does to tell and I
imagine it won't be half as good.  I'll give you the conclusion later.

PS
I just failed a Calc. test.  You know its bad when you find your self using
reasoning such as:  there hasn't been a C for a while......but if I put C,
the dots make a perfect diagonal line.....they probably wouldn't set if up so
that the answers make a line.  This is especially pitiful when you consider
that most of the previous answers that make up these patterns were guesses.
 

later
 

Date: Sun, 14 Nov 1993 19:10:41 -0600 (CST)
From: <mep119>
Sender: mep119
Message-Id: <69043.mep119@email.psu.edu>
To: mep119
Subject: RE:Conclusion

        So anyway, they took Carl's friend Tom out to the hospital,  Carl went
back to sleep and I stayed up and wait for the cleaning guy to come.  The
cleaning guy came at like 5:15 and I finally got to sleep at about 6.  The
cleaning guy was quite a character and he had a large repuotuare (hey I'm
no frenchy) of puke and drunken urination stories of his own, but that's
another story

        The phone rings at 8:45 and Tom’s voice comes on the answering machine:  "yo, man somehow
I ended up in detox.  You  gotta get me outta here.  All I know is that we were over at Phil's drinkin' and
everything was cool, and now I'm in detox with a needle in my arm. ...This is like, ...weird.

         Carl gets up and starts calling all his friends looking for someone to
drive out to the hospital (which is about 3 miles away) and get him.  He
can't find anyone.  About a half hour later Tom shows up at the door still
drunk.  We ask him how he got out.  "I told the nurse I was going to the
bathroom and I ripped the I-V needle out of my arm and took off."  He then
resumed where he left off the night before and began uking in the trash can.
Carl: (also still somewhat drunk) "Yo Tom, let's go to breakfast.”

         We all sleep for a couple hours then are awakened by excited murmurs from
the hall way.  "yeah, I saw the whole thing, I'm pretty sure the one guy was
dead when they took him out."

maid:  "and he seemed like such a nice young man."

epilogue:
     Carl was accessed a $167 clean-up fee.  His disciplinary case is pending
in the board of Judicial Affairs..

PS
     I was sure to make a copy of Tom's message to the answering machine.  I'll bring
the tape home for our holiday listening pleasure.

I have to go, I came down here an hour ago to do yet another chem lab.
 

 later