The Munchies.

So this one night, living comfortably in the dormitory building commonly associated with the "arts" kids, I smoked a lot of pot in my room. This was against all the rules of the building, the establishment, and several laws of our country. But I did it. And in this one instance, I was not caught by any authority nor charged with any fines/fees/jailtime. But I was punished.

My whole system was worked out. Towel the door, Febreze off that corner of the room, crack a window, turn the lights down low and hit that shit. Blow'm out the window once I couldn't hold it in no mo'. Totally classic. Love it. Happened sometimes when I didn't especially feel like doing some homework or you know much of anything, and none of my friends were around. My roommate, hereby referred to as Malkav, was out. He was aware of what I would do, but was never present.

So I do my thing. And almost instantly, in unison with the warm fuzzy feeling creeping over my conciousness, my apetite rose and ascended up towards the heavens. Yes, you guessed it, the largest piece of stoner terminology to be assimilated by the rest of culture. The munchies. Like a Peregrine falcon that a young boy transformed into using Andalite alien technology, I dove into my tiny micro-fridge unit. (<-- This is the best simile ever.) A quick inventory at first became a checklist of objectives for my devouring. String cheese, mango juice, maybe some form of imitation crab-meat, and then a glass jar of salsa my mother made. I had nothing to put the salsa in or on, or even a convex utensil to procur the salsa from the jar. But this only stalled me for six point three seconds before I dug in with my mandibles. My taste buds soared free from their inhibited cages with delight. There was a flaw to my plan. My food supply was not unlimited. I turned away from my barren fridge, cold from my inebriated and impassioned rape. Scanning my room held no bounty. Sadness. But wait!! What's that?! Sitting atop my roommate's desk, like a monolith of pure fruity bliss, was Yogurt. A tub of it. The side information and illustrations informed me it was dairy free and possibly the most delicious strain of bacteria on the planet. Now, hold for a second. I have a conscience. Marijuana does not turn me into some manic savage, consuming everything in sight. I knew this was not my property. But neither had been the mango juice. I was already a criminal. The guilt was there, knotted in the cobwebs where my heart belongs. But I don't like to half-ass things, and when I fuck up, I go for the gold. This Yogurt was mine. I crept up over to his desk and sat in his chair, examining the tub more closely. With great caution and care, I peeled up the plastic lip of the cover and took a peek. And to my great surprise, it was not a lumpy mass of tasty goo... but a fine white powder. When one hears "white powder" these days, there is an instant association to cocaine. If you're already on drugs, this association is even faster. I quickly combed through every memory I've ever had of my roommate, inspecting and analyzing for potential illegal drug trafficking. But I realized that was just my current state of mind taking it too far. I had to think this through rationally. With reason. And rationality. It looked a lot like sugar. Malkav had sugar for his coffee. I think? Or was that me? I don't know. It was in a yogurt tub. This could be sugar. I went over the facts:

• It LOOKED like food.
• It was in a FOOD container.
• ...it LOOKED like sugar.
• It was NOT cocaine.

Curiosity, my truest bane, grabbed a hold of the wheel with an irontight grip. I penetrated the container with my index digit and thumb, and secured a pinch. Delicately I placed the mystery upon my tongue.

And my head shouted BAD! And my tongue shouted BAD! And my mouth shouted BAD!

The taste was incorrigible. I gagged. I freaked out. Somehow in my writhing I swallowed whatever the fuck was ruining my life. My eyes stung with tears and I coughed a couple times and retreated back to my desk. I was talking to a friend online and told him quite simply "I think I just ate something that wasn't food." He thought that was pretty funny. I thought that I might have to vomit. Wait. Yes. I have to vomit.

My body leapt into Emergency Mode. I charged towards the door. But then I hesitated. It's only 7:00 pm EST approximately. I can not go barrelling down my populated hallway a blazed, teary, vomitting mess. What if the RA's were about? What if...

DOWN onto my knees, my stomach wretched. I spent too much time thinking. My diaphragm heaved and I splatted out. Shocking, the contents of my stomach did not appear before me. Just stomach acid and, yes, there the tiny globules of white were. My body rejected it. I puked no more.

After my clean-up and reflection on the past events, I relapsed into videogames. That is, until Malkav returned home. He sniffed out my previous activity and proceeded to make a jest about it, but I stopped him.

"Wait, before you say anything more, I need you to answer a question for me."

"Okay."

"Just tell me, simply and honestly, what is in that tub of yogurt on your desk."

My roommate's face got a funny look. He just stared at me, before replying solemnly.

"Laundry detergent."

We held eye contact for a few more seconds. He already knew it but he had to ask, "Why?"

"No reason."

That didn't work. He laughed at me. Laughed and laughed. His girlfriend came over and they laughed together. I paid a consequence that day. A lesson was learned. Drugs hold serious ramifications. Only use them responsibility. And if it's Travis on drugs, only use when somebody is nearby, and can tell me no. It's made for a good story though.