After wandering off in a delirious haze last Saturday night, that prospective student whose name you struggle to recall, regained consciousness in the back of a Toyota pickup truck traveling south on Highway I-5.
The underage high school student for whom you were personally responsible never made it back to your dorm after you abandoned him at the Senior Apartments. Reports from your roommate indicate he was literally right behind you bro, before becoming disoriented and stumbling off across 6th street. A few cars slowed to avoid his confused, almost toddler-esque, waddle, but none stopped.
The prospie, who you believe was called Jamie, or maybe John, had become hopelessly lost somewhere on Pomona South Campus, around the same time you returned to Appleby Lounge and began totally killing it in a game of beer-pong. In an effort to return to CMC, Jesse (or was it Jeremiah?) was witnessed meandering through Pomona Campus Center, repeatedly muttering “How the fuck did I end up at Hogwarts?” before relieving himself in the Coop Fountain.
While you tried to convince your beer-pong opponent, the cute sophomore from your Comparative Government class, that house rules mandated a “Naked Lap,” Tony, at least you’re pretty sure his name was Tony, found himself with a pair of Scripps Juniors, Apollonia and Gregg, on their way to an off-campus Pitzer house party. After smoking a hand-rolled cigarette, containing a substance known as “The Skullcrusher” Tommy reportedly became incapable of distinguishing his body from the wall on which he leaned. Later that night, the high school senior from a small town somewhere in the Midwest, you can’t remember which state but you think it has a lot of corn or some shit, waited in line for what he erroneously assumed was the bathroom. Prospie-from-the-Midwest entered the darkened, humid room, wondering if this was what all college parties are like, ‘cause this was sure different from the Homecoming after-party he attended behind his friend’s garage.
What followed can only be described as “an odyssey of the senses, as interpreted by Salvador Dali” according to anonymous sources.
At 12:42, approximately 20 minutes after you realized that the prospie was no longer with you and began searching for a “goofy looking kid with, like, curly hair I think,” the 17 year old to whom you intended to demonstrate the stimulating lifestyle provided by an elite institution of higher learning texted you confirming he was on his way back. You promptly took a victory shot.
The Midwestern boy whose name almost certainly started with a “T,” or at least a “T-sound” obtained a ride from a reputable looking Honda Civic to where he thought was Appleby Dorm, but was actually an abandoned Applebee’s restaurant known to the criminal underground as the standard location for narcotics exchanges.
Accounts vary regarding the events of the next few hours, however according to sources with knowledge of the “Los Zetas” cartel, the prospective student for whom you were obligated to act as a guide and chaperone through a brief taste of the exciting but often overwhelming life after high school, was verbally and then physically abused in the Applebee’s parking lot. He was knocked unconscious, bound, gagged, and thrown in the back of a Toyota pick-up truck, then covered with a tarp.
At press time, the pick-up is reported to have reached the Mexican-American border, while you remark to your friends over brunch that after last Saturday night, Toby, or whatever his name was, is totally gonna apply.
– Dante Toppo ’15