The Mycon
22-11-2004, 23:21
I love my dorm floor. I wouldn't have become their pseudo-nanny/mechanic if I didn't. Naked football in the hallways at 2AM the day before(of?) a midterm is a just their way of thanking me. I have an opportunity to use every single tool I have at least once a week. About half of 'em have decent taste in music, and only half play of them play their music loud enough that the bass shakes the floor. None of that changes the fact that they're idiotic little shits who will steal anything that isn't nailed down, and for the rest they'll find a way to break it in two so they can have part of it.
The latest incident is partly my fault, so I can't blame them entirely. Getting back from a frat party about 3AM, I was thirsty, because it's about a half-mile walk (very refreshing, and you get to practice the natural-walk all the way). The fountainhead is missing. The floor's uber-Libertarian is lying passed out, on his floor with a copy of said book on his desk, door open but instrument nowhere in notice. I go to my room, grab a large phillips-head and a small flathead screwdriver, work the bolts out of the top plate to the fountain and pry it off without hurting the mechanism and hold the filter-tube right by my mouth and drink straight from it. Not really wanting to replace all that stuff, I put the plate back on, screw in one bolt, and hide the rest of what I'd taken off in the corner.
Uber-Lib is awake, pissed for some unknown reason, and throws his chair out the door, splintering it and denting the wall behind it. I threaten and sexually harass his friends as an excuse to inspect the damage, decide I can fix it the moment he's blacked out, and go back to my room. I get on AIM, talk to someone who's still up about the girl he failed to mack, hand out my polite dismissals to the half dozen requests I get from guys wanting to suck my cock, and then I hear metal ripping. I write some nonsense, pick a random away message, grab the multi-tool, and calmly go back to the fountain.
Three horrible scraping noises later, I arrive to see the whole of the waterfountain's frame lying in pieces around the door. Since there was only one of four bolts in place, there's only one corner that's been torn off, and I can still attach the rest of it well enough to make it hold its place. I unscrew the last bolt, drop it in the hidden pile, and throw away the jagged chunks of metal that were still attached to the skeleton. I bend a few rods so that it works, get a drink, decide that if anyone gets hurt by sticking their hand in the heat pump's compressor/fan thingie, it's their own damn fault. Still, I decide to pretend to pass out on the floor about five feet away to check if they can still do anything to it.
Ten minutes, the skeleton's smashed, the power's disconnected, and the water pipes are leaking. If I go buy a blowtorch, first thing in the morning, it might take half an hour to fix it. I could probably make the scraps fit if I took my hammer to them, if hardware stores open on a sunday morning don't have one, though it'd be ugly. "I'm a good nanny to the attractive juvenile delinquents," I think, "If this is all they can do, I can take care of it." As a note, the splinters of the above mentioned chair, by this point, had been thrown out a window.
Of course, the "flooding" from the leaky pipe had become a health issue by the time I woke up, so the authority shut off water to our floor and taken away the identifiable parts of the waterfountain. It was only gone for a day and a half, but it was a fucking pain in the ass. Luckily, someone was clever enough to organize a smash-and-grab raid to the floor above ours, ruin their fountain, and convince the whole floor to agree they had done it. Our RA will still be crucified, but no worse than he deserves, and the fines will all go to innocent victims rather than the actual vandals (myself included).
Thank God for Thanksgiving. I'm halfway tempted to shift from "take care of their little screwups" to "take care of those fucking idiots once and for all." I need a holiday.
Oh, and this rule might seem like common sense, but apparently you need to expressly state it in college- If you are orally pleasured, and the semen somehow lands in your roommate's bed, please clean up after yourself. You fucking pig.
The latest incident is partly my fault, so I can't blame them entirely. Getting back from a frat party about 3AM, I was thirsty, because it's about a half-mile walk (very refreshing, and you get to practice the natural-walk all the way). The fountainhead is missing. The floor's uber-Libertarian is lying passed out, on his floor with a copy of said book on his desk, door open but instrument nowhere in notice. I go to my room, grab a large phillips-head and a small flathead screwdriver, work the bolts out of the top plate to the fountain and pry it off without hurting the mechanism and hold the filter-tube right by my mouth and drink straight from it. Not really wanting to replace all that stuff, I put the plate back on, screw in one bolt, and hide the rest of what I'd taken off in the corner.
Uber-Lib is awake, pissed for some unknown reason, and throws his chair out the door, splintering it and denting the wall behind it. I threaten and sexually harass his friends as an excuse to inspect the damage, decide I can fix it the moment he's blacked out, and go back to my room. I get on AIM, talk to someone who's still up about the girl he failed to mack, hand out my polite dismissals to the half dozen requests I get from guys wanting to suck my cock, and then I hear metal ripping. I write some nonsense, pick a random away message, grab the multi-tool, and calmly go back to the fountain.
Three horrible scraping noises later, I arrive to see the whole of the waterfountain's frame lying in pieces around the door. Since there was only one of four bolts in place, there's only one corner that's been torn off, and I can still attach the rest of it well enough to make it hold its place. I unscrew the last bolt, drop it in the hidden pile, and throw away the jagged chunks of metal that were still attached to the skeleton. I bend a few rods so that it works, get a drink, decide that if anyone gets hurt by sticking their hand in the heat pump's compressor/fan thingie, it's their own damn fault. Still, I decide to pretend to pass out on the floor about five feet away to check if they can still do anything to it.
Ten minutes, the skeleton's smashed, the power's disconnected, and the water pipes are leaking. If I go buy a blowtorch, first thing in the morning, it might take half an hour to fix it. I could probably make the scraps fit if I took my hammer to them, if hardware stores open on a sunday morning don't have one, though it'd be ugly. "I'm a good nanny to the attractive juvenile delinquents," I think, "If this is all they can do, I can take care of it." As a note, the splinters of the above mentioned chair, by this point, had been thrown out a window.
Of course, the "flooding" from the leaky pipe had become a health issue by the time I woke up, so the authority shut off water to our floor and taken away the identifiable parts of the waterfountain. It was only gone for a day and a half, but it was a fucking pain in the ass. Luckily, someone was clever enough to organize a smash-and-grab raid to the floor above ours, ruin their fountain, and convince the whole floor to agree they had done it. Our RA will still be crucified, but no worse than he deserves, and the fines will all go to innocent victims rather than the actual vandals (myself included).
Thank God for Thanksgiving. I'm halfway tempted to shift from "take care of their little screwups" to "take care of those fucking idiots once and for all." I need a holiday.
Oh, and this rule might seem like common sense, but apparently you need to expressly state it in college- If you are orally pleasured, and the semen somehow lands in your roommate's bed, please clean up after yourself. You fucking pig.