Early on in our doomed friendship, Elle used to be courteous enough to ask before bringing people over to my dorm room to drink. After asking permission, she brought two friends from back home over one night, Ashlyn and Katie.
Little did I know, these two girls would go on to become some of my closest friends in the entire world. You probably won’t ever know much about them, though. There’s no conflict there. Functional relationships make such boring stories.
The second night that Ashlyn and Katie came over, Elle asked on Ashlyn’s behalf if it was alright for her to bring a friend over. I jokingly asked if it was an attractive girl. It wasn’t. It was some random dude. I should have known better, but I said, “Sure! Bring him on over!” At this point I was still searching for the wingman that my roommate would never be.
See Ashlyn, like every single other freshman girl in every college in the universe everywhere was in a dysfunctional relationship with her high school boyfriend back home. It was on its last legs, but there it stood. For a really. Long. Freaking. Time.
In a low point, she and her boyfriend were separated enough for her to meet another guy. His name was Kyle, and not the Kyle with the glass mice pipe that caught my hair on fire. This Kyle was a different breed entirely.
He was tall and lanky. Like so many freshman guys, he was experimenting with that patchy facial hair that any loving parent would tell their son to shave. Seeing as how boys didn’t bring their parents to college with them, many amass truly trashy half-formed goatees and greasy looking mustaches.
I was never one to judge, though. Even today I can’t grow any facial hair worth mentioning. The son of a man whose upper lip I have never seen in my entire life – a testament to the resiliency of his mustache – hair only grows underneath my chin in the itchiest of areas. I boast to my beautiful girlfriend that I’ll grow a ‘stash someday, but it’s a very empty threat.
Kyle dressed like a good ol’ boy. Just by looking at him, I immediately knew that he wasn’t the type of guy that I would have reached out to for friendship. As a refugee from Alabama, I tend to avoid the redneck type, though most of them are fine folks (I’m just not creative enough to come up with anything to talk to them about).
His social skills weren’t strong. It wasn’t a good situation for someone with that problem to be in. He was the new guy, the stranger in a room of friends who were getting closer and closer every Thursday night.
Needless to say, Kyle didn’t know how to act. He was a little off when we were playing beer pong, but it didn’t really show until we folded up the ping pong table.
That’s when he hijacked the music. In my iTunes library was a cornucopia of stand up comedy albums. They were outstanding for road trips, but obviously not party soundtracks. Kyle disagreed. He clicked through them one by one, quoting the ones that he recognized and chuckling at my desk at the ones unfamiliar to him.
By now he had amassed enough small transgressions to walk the line between being annoying and outright creepy. In a move that I’m quite amazed actually worked, I offered sanctuary for the women in my bed. It was just the standard issue dorm bottom bunk, but I had made it into a vampire cave by hanging a long blanket from the top bunk so that I didn’t have to worry about sunlight when I slept all day. (Complementing this effort was the cardboard box that the ping pong table came in, which I had taped up over the one window in the room in a fire hazard that even my laid back RA had to acknowledge).
In the comfort of my bed, the ladies and I drunkenly began hatching a plan to ditch Kyle without calling it a night. I don’t remember the specifics, only that it was far, far, far more elaborate than it needed to be. I think we all made up separate excuses for needing to leave suddenly. So many beers in, we must have figured that this would be believable.
Meanwhile, Kyle recognized that the bed was too full and that it would be crossing a line (even for him) to join me and all these females in my hibernation cave. Instead, he thought it would be funny to poke at the blanket that closed it in. I couldn’t help but wonder how ridiculous he looked in doing this, and he was really baiting my curiosity with the strange noise he made each time he pushed on the blanket. I crawled across people to get to the foot of the bed. Through the bed posts, I saw his strange motion, a cobra-like half-witted karate chop accompanied by sound effects reminiscent of that old Batman TV show.
Either completely clueless, or sadly aware that we wanted him to leave, Kyle eventually parted ways from us and we reunited to go to Whataburger to discuss the strangeness of our night.
After brainstorming nicknames for the guy, we settled on Sketchesaurus Rex. He was the king dinosaur of creepers. To this day we still give Ashlyn a hard time about inviting people places, joking that we never know when she will bring along the next Sketchesaurus.
If this story seems cruel to poor Kyle, it wasn’t meant to be. He gave off a really bad vibe and he made his very presence extremely uncomfortable to endure. We weren’t mean to his face and we didn’t gossip about him behind that blanket. Our covert communication’s sole intent was to get him out of there so that we could get late night junk food.
We never partied with him again after that night, though we exchanged tales of “Sketchesaurus Sightings” around campus.
Fate is funny. For all I know the guy could be a billionaire by now, surrounded by a slew of beautiful women to enjoy stand up comedy CDs with. If he is, then I feel even less guilty about lying to him so that he would get out of my dorm.