Let me just preface this by saying I’m not a fan of cops. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy an episode of “N.C.I.S.” just as much as the next bored housewife but as far as real-life college town police officers go, pretty much all of them fucking suck. That being said, you can imagine my mix of annoyance, frustration, and straight-up terror when I awoke to a police officer shining a flashlight on my face on Saturday night.
Last weekend was everyone’s favorite fraternity’s annual Greeks and Geeks party. Just in case you don’t speak frat, this theme translates into togas and slutty schoolgirls. The night began with the usual pre-frat party routine of slutty schoolgirl primping, calling pledge rides to take us to the pregame, and then shotgunning Four lokos. The real party hadn’t even started yet and it was safe to say I was drunk. Not just tipsy drunk, I’m talking text-my-mom-at-11:30 p.m.-“Im ducking drink” kinda drunk.
Anyway, as the night went on, the punch kept flowing, the frat guys went from being soft sixes to totally fuckable, and I got more and more wasted by the minute. Eventually, 2 a.m. rolled around and it was time to find a ride home.
The pledge that dropped me off at my door wasn’t nearly cute enough to invite inside for a postgame drink so I waved goodbye and proceeded to skip my slutty schoolgirl ass up to my front door as the pledge sped away. It was at that moment I realized I didn’t have my keys.
It is usually at this moment that any sane, sober human would whip out their phone and call a friend to come get them. At this time, however, I was not even remotely sober or any degree of sane (but am I ever either of these?), therefore my solution to the lockout situation wasn’t exactly brilliant. My solution? To slutty-schoolgirl skip around my apartment complex just for fun until I apparently got tired and fell asleep.
Fast forward about an hour. It’s 3:22 a.m. and dark as shit outside but behind my closed eyelids it looks bright as day, because there’s a fucking flashlight shining in my face. I slowly opened my eyes and looked around. I am laying in the middle of a fucking dog park with Officer Not-So-Prince-Charming kneeling next to me.
My first though was that he was going to give me a ticket. Public intoxication? Minor’s stomach in possession of alcohol? Is there a law against sleeping in a pile of dog shit? Because if there is I’m 100 percent sure I’m about to get a ticket for that.
Officer Maybe-Not-Such-An-Asshole proceeded to ask me a bunch of questions including “Do you have a home?” and “Are you sure you are okay?” to which I tried to respond as soberly as possible. Then he hit me with the question that caught me off guard. “How did you get this far from work?”
I looked down at my ass-revealing plaid skirt, bedazzled bra, and thigh high stockings- all the components of my slutty schoolgirl outfit. Articles of ‘clothing’ that were, coincidentally, all the makings of a stripper outfit.
Officer Highly Mistaken must have seen my look of terror and confusion. “Don’t worry ma’am I respect your life decisions. In fact, I think you’re actually quite bright! Most girls your age don’t realize how much money there is to be made at the titty bar.”
What the actual fuck is going on. A police officer just used the term ‘titty bar’ in a conversation with me. Without even responding I leaped up and began to run. I have no idea where the fuck I was running all I knew was I wanted to get away from that confused creep. Clearly he had been eating too many donuts lately because he couldn’t keep up with my stocking-clad, former cross country legs and I escaped into a nearby neighbor’s house safely.
Some people might read this story and think the moral is to not get so drunk at a frat party that you pass out in a dog park in a slutty schoolgirl outfit. This, my friends, is not the moral. The moral of this story is obviously to drop out of college and become a stripper because like Mr. Creepy Cop says, the titty bar is where the real money is at..
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