What Was I Thinking?!?! Wednesday!

With a shout out to Tabatha’s Totally Awkward Tuesdays, welcome to What Was I Thinking!?! Wednesday!

The other day I was remembering of some of the “Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time…” moment s in my life, and I came to two conclusions. First, I’ve done some REALLY stupid things in my life, and second, it’s probably more than just a minor miracle that I’m still alive. (Okay, let’s be honest… while I recognize the ridiculously dangerous and stupid nature of such events, I would probably do it again. I guess that means I’m not quite old enough to know better…)

It was one of those obnoxious October days in Ohio. In the afternoon, it was sunny and 80 degrees. By four o’clock, it was overcast and 35. I was sitting in my dorm room… er… residence hall room… with Freshman Roommate and Other Roommate. All three of us were at our computers, giving a semblance of diligently doing homework. In reality, I’m sure I was holding at least four different conversations on AIM and obsessively checking e-mail.

To give a little context, Freshman Roommate, Other Roommate and I had randomly been placed together. We lived on the fifth floor of a predominantly First Year Student Residence. Our room had at one point been a lounge. Consequently, we had a slightly larger than the average triple right next door to the community bathroom. (Read: LOTS of people traffic by our door… which was always open, of course.)

Coincidentally, Freshman Roommate and I had met before college at a journalism summer camp. She was from the Cleveland area, full of laughter, somewhat crazy, and I loved her. Other Roommate was (and I imagine, still is) one of the most down-to-earth, genuinely caring people I have ever met. We got along well, and generally enjoyed sharing a living space. (A living space where a guy would come to visit Freshman Roommate, talk to me instead, and, ten years later, I call him Wasband. (A term I lovingly plagiarized from Madre...who is not my biological mother... but let's not get confused.)

Around 11 pm on this obnoxious October night, Freshman Roommate gets up from her chair, closes the door, and starts swapping out her signature sweatpants for a pair of jeans. While she’s digging through her sweatshirts, Other Roommate asks, “Where are you going?”

“Carillon Park.”

I turn from my computer. “What? Now? Why?”

Freshman Roommate proceeds to explain how she has been chatting online with this guy, who found her through God knows how. He lives relatively nearby and he’s walking his pit bull to Carillon Park (Big park by the river. About five blocks from our hall.) AND SHE’S GOING TO MEET HIM. By herself. In a park. At midnight.

Okay, now you need to remember, this is 1999. My roommate was not finding her perfect match based on the 87 indicators on eHarmony.com. She was a cute college girl; this guy was a complete stranger. A complete stranger, walking his PIT BULL in a park at midnight.

After several minutes of trying to convince her that this was a bad idea, it was dangerous, she could end up as the morning headlines, we were NOT going to the morgue to claim her body, we finally came to a rational agreement.

Ten minutes later, I was walking down Stewart Street, trying to pull my winter coat tighter around me, cursing the fact that I had been wearing shorts earlier in the day. I was going with her. Because, of course, it’s so much safer to have TWO cute college girls go to a park at midnight to meet Strange Man who was walking his pit bull.

Strange Man ended up being pretty normal. His dog was the sweetest little girl around, and we just chatted and acted stupid. He told us about his job at a department store; we told him about our roommate. (As a result of this night, I can tell you that it is possible to make your shadow stretch more than half the height of the Carillon Tower…in case you were ever wondering.) After an hour or so, the cold became unbearable for people who hadn’t bothered to find gloves. We walked back to our dorm; Strange Man went …wherever it was that Strange Man was going next…

I believe my boss was the first to ask what the (enter your favorite expletive here) I was thinking. Her husband was on the local police force, and there had been a homicide in Carillon Park overnight. (I’m happy to report that Strange Man was neither the victim nor the suspect.)

Well. It seemed like a good idea at the time…