That Time I Accidentally Drugged My Roommate


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Nice Move


“Are those cops outside our apartment?” I asked as I tried to maneuver my new crutches on the uneven asphalt.

“What if it’s Bethany?” My best friend, Alex, laughed as she grabbed my bag out of the back of her car and helped me get my balance.

I planted the rubber feet of the crutches in front of me, and a groan escaped as I put my weight on my shoulders.

“Hey! At least you’ll have a killer upper body after this!” Alex said as we made our way toward the building. “Casey and Stan made you a little something to help you feel better,” she added while flashing me a mysterious smile.

As we ambled closer towards the doors I noticed a swarm of cops crowding around the entrance doors. They were by their cars and talking on radios, appearing bored. It seems that whatever the problem was was dying out now, and most of the officers were chatting and itching to leave.

“New to those things?” a cute cop in his twenties asked me with a smile as I huffed passed him at the speed of a glacier.

“Yeah, just broke it,” I muttered, wishing that I wasn’t sporting stained shorts and unwashed hair.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it,” he flirted, making my spirit lift slightly.

I don’t mean to whine (Jk. I totally mean to whine), but the past month had been total shit. My wallet got stolen (and with it, my phone, my debit and credit cards, and my licence), my boyfriend dumped me, my replacement phone (you know, the one I got after my previous one got stolen) fell in the toilet, my replacement boyfriend had a girlfriend, and I was currently jobless with no plan of how I would pay next year’s rent and dues. Such a sob story, right? To make matters worse, I decided to still hang around my ex’s fraternity, because of course. And that night, I was going to take the plunge.

I was going to hook up with one of my ex’s friends.

Bitchy, I know. But at this point, I didn’t care. My ex was off doing his thing (AKA other females), and by God, I was going to get mine. Unfortunately for me, the past year of my life had been spent hanging around his fraternity, so my pickings were slim. I didn’t want to screw around with one of his besties and be a total slore. But a low to mid-tier friend? I was game.

So I went to the bar, snagged a stool, and enjoyed be the center of attention of all the guys as I acted like I didn’t care that my heart had been ripped out of my chest (“What?! No! It was totally mutual! It’s fine! *sob sob sob*). As the drinks kept flowing, the conversation with my victim became more and more flirty. Eventually, as the bar was clearing out, he asked me if I wanted to go home with him. Alex was shaking her head no, my morals were agreeing with her, but my ego was wanting to fuck shit up.

So I said I was going to stay behind for a few more drinks and would meet him at his place.

But that never happened. A few drinks turned into many, and before I knew it my friends had left. I asked a pledge to drive me to his fraternity brother’s house, and he begrudgingly agreed. And the fate of God or karma or whatever mythical being that was watching over me stepped in. Literally. A little African American boy stopped me in the parking lot trying to sell shit. Normally I would have avoided eye contact and pretended I was on my phone to get out of this situation.

But plastered me felt differently.

I asked him questions. Why was he selling these shitty, Walmart items? What were his dreams for the future? And how would my money help him? After fifteen minutes of tears (me), animated conversation (also me), I agreed to purchase a $.50 candle for $5 in the hopes that this would help him become a doctor, or whatever.

Just as I was turning around to head to the car, I fell. I fell hard. The distance from my standing position to the curb seemed to last a lifetime. BUT IT’S FINE! I TRIP ALL THE TIME! Except as I looked down at my foot, twisted at an odd angle and immediately swelling, I wasn’t too sure. I ripped off my heel (remember wearing heels to bars? LOL), and begged the pledge to carry me to his car. Once I was in, I looked at my foot and decided that I needed to go home.

But wait. I sort of wanted to get laid. In my drunken state, I decided that what I needed was weed. Because that would help my foot. I forgot about the guy who I had promised to meet hours ago and told the pledge to take me to my ex- ex-boyfriend’s house. There I got high, passed out in the bathroom, and woke up to the realization that I was really, really fucked.

I immediately went to the university medical center (please don’t drug test, please don’t drug test) and was told that yes, I did, in fact, fracture my ankle. After a painful conversation with my parents, an even more painful moment when the doctor put my foot in a soft cast, I rented some crutches and told my friends to pick me up. They were ready since I had apparently called them at 3 a.m. sobbing about how no one would love me know that I had a gimp. Dramatic? Yes. Politically correct? Fuck no. Merited? Eh…

“Are you girls Bethany’s roommates?” A voice barked from the entrance to the apartment complex.

“Yes…” We said hesitantly in unison.

At that moment, I spotted Bethany, the random roommate we had been assigned to at the start of the year. She looked shaken, and her eyes looked glassy and scared.

“Oh my gosh. What happened?” Alex asked, taking in our roommate’s weird demeanor.

“We got a call from Bethany thirty minutes ago saying that she felt weird. Her heart was racing and she was very disoriented. Isn’t that right Bethany?”

Our roommate nodded at the cop, avoiding eye contact with us.

“I’m going to walk you girls back you to your room,” the policewoman informed us, motioning towards the elevator.

As I hobbled into the elevator, I shot a panicked look at Alex. Her face mirrored mine as we rode up the four floors in silence. The doors opened to reveal our two missing friends, Casey and Stan. Both of them were standing there looking flustered and on edge. Their bloodshot eye’s widened as they took in the scene — me with a boot and crutches, our roommate looking freaked out, and the policewoman who immediately sized them up.

“Oh. Hey guys,” Stan blurted out, looking distraught.

“Hi. We were just coming to…” Casey started but trailed off as our group stepped out of the elevator. “Well, I guess we’ll just, go back?” She finished.

The policewoman hung behind with our weird roommate as we led the way. Still trying to figure out how the fuck crutches worked, I fell back. In my distress to stay upright, I heard a snippet of Bethany and the cop’s conversation.

“Did you eat anything strange today?” The cop prompted, in what seemed to be a totally scripted conversation.

“Uh. Some pasta. Yogurt. Uhhh. A sandwich. And um… I don’t know.” Bethany stuttered.

“That’s it?” The police officer said, obviously fishing for something.

“Oh I don’t — I uh,” Bethany said, clearly hiding something.

And that’s when it hit me. That’s when it hit all of us. All three of my friends turned around and stared at me. I subtly shook my head at them, praying to God that they wouldn’t say anything. There was a cop behind me. My roommate was obviously fucked up. And I had the distinct feeling that my friends, with their bloodshot eyes, had done something very bad.

As we rounded the corner to our room, I prayed to any and all deities that whatever it was that they were high on was hidden. My friends ahead of me fumbled with their keys (get it together assholes) and raced in the room. The police officer froze directly outside of the door and turned to my roommate and me.

“Call us if you need anything, or if something happens,” she said, more to Bethany than to me.

My roommate nodded and we entered the room. The scene ahead of us made everything fall into place.

Casey and Stan were holding a tray of brownies looking scared. Alex was laughing as she cut a very small sliver.

“What was your guys’ surprise?” I asked, feeling my heart sink.

“Brownies…” They responded, their bloodshot eyes twinkling.

It turns out, my friends decided to make me weed brownies in my time of need. So, for medical reasons, they made me a very potent batch. It also turns out, that, thanks to our shitty roommate’s nasty habit of stealing our food, she sliced herself a very large, very dangerous slice of reef-cake.

Which resulted in her standing in our living room, twitching and speaking in strange tongues.

“Bethany,” Casey began, “Did you eat our brownies?”

But instead of answering like a normal person, Bethany did something better. She’s rolled her eyes to the back of her head and muttered, “The demons are inside of me.”


We stood there, staring at this girl, trying to understand what the actual fuck was going on.

“My momma told me this would happen if I came to college,” she continued. “The evil is inside of me now,” she sobbed and ran into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

A few weeks later, Bethany moved out. I’m not sure if it’s because we accidentally drugged her or due to other reasons, but it worked out for the best. I still follow her on Snapchat, and I have to say, our innocent ex-roommate has loosened up for sure. She wouldn’t be calling the cops now if you know what I mean. And despite her thinking that she was going to die, and insisting that Haitian demons had inhabited her body, I’m sure something good came out of it. Chances are Bethany learned a very valuable lesson in living with other people. I’d bet money that from then on, she never ate her roommate’s food again.

Image via Shutterstock


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