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How I Accidentally Broke this Chick’s Finger

How I Accidentally Broke this Chick’s Finger
Written on 3/3/09

So I was 19 years old. 2nd year out of high school, first year at Loras College in Dubuque, IA. Everything was new, unfamiliar and huge in a world that seemed so used, familiar and small to everyone I was now surrounded by.

I am an impulsive person when I am in my comfort zone. I am an extremely impulsive person while under the influence of alcohol. Along with my inclinations of being an impulsive drinker, I also have a tendency to not want to stop partying until every one else is finished partying. At Loras College during my freshman year, I was one of those Freshman who hadn’t had enough when the house parties ended. Every night, there were at least 20-30 other freshmen who were in the same boat as me, keg-beer drunk with no intentions of slowing down until daylight.

When the house parties near the campus concluded, I would venture from the party to a quick stop at my dorm at Binz Hall (the Sophomore/Junior dormitory…I got stuck there as a Freshman, long story) to Beckman Hall where the majority of the Freshmen resided. This was walk was a short one. The buildings are right next to each other. Beckman Hall was generally where the other Freshmen who weren’t ready to go down for the night would hang out, either outside the building, or in the lobby. It was usually a pretty decent time.

One time, I experienced something pretty crazy when I ventured to Beckman Hall for after-hours.

During this particular time, which was the first semester of my Freshman year at Loras College, I was enrolled in an Algebra class. Usually you hear people complaining about Algebra/Math and anything relatively similar to it, but I have always had mixed emotions about it. I didn’t like the work involved or the lengthy assignments, assigned on a daily basis. However, Math-related classes were always something that I was somewhat naturally decent at. In other words, I liked math because I was good at it, but despised the baggage that came with it (the excessive homework). Hell, I was so behind the times and stuck in the past that year (2003), that whenever I tried completing an Algebra homework assignment, I would have the most difficult time fighting the temptation to play Mario Kart (64 style) with my friends…who were stuck in the past alongside with me.

There was this girl who sat next to me in Algebra class. I don’t even remember what her name is anymore. Anyways, she caught on to the fact that I usually scored relatively high on my math quizzes, tests and homework when I actually did it. After about 3 weeks of class, she began asking me to let her copy my homework. I agreed to let her do this on a daily basis and had no problem with it. To be honest, it momentarily made me feel smarter than I originally thought I was. You are inclined to respond this way when you are 19 years old and had been called a dumbass by your father so many times throughout the years that you actually started to respond to the word as if it were your actual name and every time you heard the word mentioned in casual conversation between two strangers, you glanced at them because for a split second, you thought they were either speaking to you or about you. With that said, I was flattered that this girl trusted my intelligence enough to actually confidently copy my homework.

The only way I can describe how this girl looks is this: she looks like a combination of Lisa Kudrow (Phoebe from “Friends”) and Chris Farley. If you were to ask me what her nose looked like, I would tell you that it is something in between Lisa Kudrow and Chris Farley. If you were to ask me about her hair, I would say that her hair is like Lisa Kudrow’s in terms of style, but with a hint of Chris Farley’s hair color. If you were to ask me about her shape, I would say her shape resembles something in between Lisa Kudrow and Chris Farley, but more on the Chris Farley side. If you were to ask me what her face looks like, I would tell you that virtually every feature of her’s was a cross between Lisa Kudrow and Chris Farley. Got a good visual now?

 

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Got it?

Let’s refer to this girl as “Chrisa Fardrow.”

So one thirsty Thursday night, the “swimmer house” threw a kegger. Those kids could party, man. Prior to attending their parties, the only thing that I knew they were capable of was wearing Speedos in public.  They could also drink!

I only had one class the next day which was at 1:00 P.M. so I knew that no matter how drunk I became, I would at least be CAPABLE of dragging my ass out of bed to attend class.  So I decided to throw the brews down pretty hard that night.

The kegs ran dry around 1:00 in the morning. Going to bed at 1:00 am on a “thirsty-Thursday” was for the Nancies, so instead of just going to my dorm, watching television and going to bed, I decided to waddle my way to Beckman Hall to see if there were any other Freshmen who also weren’t ready to go down yet. Sure enough, there were about 25 people loitering outside the dorm.

So I joined the party and began drunken-bullshitting with a couple people, when the hefty girl from my Algebra class approached me and put her hand on my chest and in attempted, but failed seductive fashion, whispers, “hey youuuuu.  You are like, really smart. We have Algebra together.”   I responded with, “yeah, I hear that I am smart quite a bit.”  That was the epitome of shit-eating fucking lies, but I couldn’t refrain from gloating.  Being described as “smart” by someone in front of a bunch of people is something that I didn’t experience often. I had to take it and run with it. She then mumbled, “I like, copy all of my homework off of you.”  I propped my chin up a bit proudly and responded, “yeah, I know you do. How do you enjoy getting perfect scores every time you copy off me?”  She replied, “oh I looove it, hee-hee-hee.”

It was at this moment where she blatantly changed her demeanor in terms of how she was interacting with me from “I’m a random drunk fat chick,” to “I’m a drunk fat chick who resembles a cross between Chris Farley and Lisa Kudrow and wants to fuck your brains out, right now!!!”

I began gradually distancing myself from her a bit at this point. Even the drunk version of myself has standards in terms of who I want to fornicate with. These standards may be a little bit lower than the sober version of myself, but I at least maintain a pretty solid grasp as to who and what I can possibly work a chub to. Chrisa Fardrow was not even close to being within my drunken fornication standards. Simply put, regardless of whether I’m drunk or sober, I am not sexually attracted to fat chicks.

As I gradually distanced myself from her, I also decided to cut the conversation short with her. This was not as easy as I expected or wanted it to be.  I quickly tried to start a conversation with someone else. Below is how my social interaction with Chrisa Fardrow unraveled.  My thought process at the time and random narratives will be specified within parentheses in italics:

Chrisa Fardrow: Hey you!!! don’t walk away from me when I’m trying to start a conversation with you!!!

Me: I didn’t, I just have to talk to my friend about something. (I nudged the person nearest to my left side. This “friend” as I tried to portray it to Fardrow, was some dude I had never seen or met before. He looked at me with a confused expression on his face and treated me as if he didn’t know me…which he didn’t).

Chrisa Fardrow: Oh, well what are you doing tonight?

Me: Something else. (She should catch on at this point, right?)

Chrisa Fardrow: Something else, like what? You know, along with being smart as hell, I also think you are hot. You look like Mark Wahlberg. (If I had a dime for every time a stranger told me I look like; Mark Wahlberg, Heath Ledger or Val Kilmer, I’d literally have about $130.70 extra cash in my bank account. That’s not an exaggeration. I hear it all the time and have since I was roughly 17 years old).

Me: Well, I can assure you, that I am NOT Mark Wahlberg.

Chrisa Fardrow: Hee-hee-hee. I know, silly. Hey, you should come with me to my room and we can FUCK! (Gee-whiz, that didn’t take very freaking long).

Me: Nah, I don’t think so.

Chrisa Fardrow: Why the hell not?

Me: Because I don’t think I’d perform well.  I think I’ve got a bad case of drunken limp-penis right now. I’d be wasting your time. (At this point, I wasn’t quite annoyed to the point where I felt the need to say things that could potentially hurt the feelings of this person who was so nice in Algebra class and even referred to me as “smart” in front of a group of people. Drunken limp-penis.  I thought it was a valid excuse and it shouldn’t have made her feel insulted or anything. But at the least, she surely should have gotten the drift by now, right?)

Chrisa Fardrow: Ohh, drunken limp-penis, ehh?  Well I think I can change that. (As she winked at me.  “Eww gross!” I thought to myself).

Me: No, I don’t even think a hot chick could change it.  It’s a pretty severe case right now. (Ok, so I HEAVILY implied that I don’t consider her to be a “hot chick.” Is she going to catch on, finally?)

Chrisa Fardrow: Oh, I bet you I can. (As she gradually neared towards me, while I simultaneously gradually back-pedaled).

Me: No, I don’t think so. In fact, I think I’m going to make my way to my room and go to bed. (I reached for my keys in my pocket and begin sort of swaying in the direction of my dorm).

Chrisa Fardrow: Haha, bull-shit! You NEVER go to bed at this time. Everyone knows you party until 6:00 AM every night. (Holy shit, she had previously done her homework on me. And everyone knows I generally party that late every night?  Everyone knows I party?  Everyone knows me?  There are people who actually know me on this campus???  WUT?!)

Me: Everyone knows I do that? (Wait a second, Rico, don’t let that distract you. Get back to the task at hand, which is getting this Butterball the hell off of me). Well, tonight is an exception. I am way more tired than usual tonight. I am going to bed. (I jingled my keys a bit and motioned towards the general region of my dorm, implying that I was leaving. I then began walking towards it, pouting about the fact that this annoying, chubby girl had cut my night short).

Chrisa Fardrow: Hee-hee, yeah right. (She then proceeded to quickly lunge at me and TOOK MY FREAKING KEYS OUT OF MY HAND.  I was officially pissed off).

Me: Dude, give me my fucking keys back.

Chrisa Fardrow: No way, you are WAY to drunk to have those right now.

Me: I am NOT too drunk to have those. I am not even that drunk. Give me my keys back, right the fuck now!!!

Chrisa Fardrow: I thought you were so drunk that you had a bad case of drunken limp-penis???

Me: I lied. I said that to get you off my nuts. Give me my keys right…fucking…now. (Ok, the cat was out of the bad. No more implications. I blatantly TOLD her that I didn’t have ANY interest in doing anything sexual with her. She should freaking get the drift by now).

Chrisa Fardrow: No way! Your not getting your keys back! You are WAY too drunk.

Me: Seriously, I am not driving anywhere if that’s what you are thinking I intend to do. Just give me my keys back, seriously. You are pissing me off right now. (And that was an understatement. I was seething with internal rage at that moment).

Chrisa Fardrow: Nope, you aren’t getting them back. (She lifts my keys up and dangles them with her hand, taunting me with them. When I reached for them, she would pull her hand away. Time to get real with this bitch).

Me: Let me tell you something. And please allow these words to get through your fat head and reach the pea-sized brain you have inside of it.  I…DON’T…..WANT….TO….HAVE….SEX….WITH….YOU.  And I don’t want to make out, hang out or waste any more time trying to get my keys back from you.  I seriously wouldn’t be able to have sex with you if I tried because I wouldn’t be able to get a boner to your naked body…which if you don’t know, a boner is a necessity in terms of successfully engaging in the act of sex.  Now listen carefully, I…AM…NOT…ATTRACTED…TO….YOU.  In fact, I find your physical appearance repulsive.  So would you PLEASE, for the love of God, give me my freaking keys back?!?! (This should be the kicker.  In fact, what I said to her right there was so mean, I’d expect most girls to be borderline traumatized by it.  She surely will lay off now, right?)

Chrisa Fardrow: Nope. Either I go with you to your dorm or you stay with me in my room. You are just way too drunk right now to have your keys. (She STILL had a flirtatious smile on her face).

Me: Oh my God, seriously….what do you not understand about this?

Chrisa Fardrow: No, what do YOU not understand. I don’t think you’ve given me a fair chance to show you what I can do, yet.

Me: What do you mean I don’t understand?  I’ve been very up front with you about all this.  I’m not attracted to you, period.  So give me my fucking keys back!!!

Chrisa Fardrow: No way your getting them back.  You don’t know this, but once you go fat…..(long pause as she was trying to think of something that rhymed)………you get a tat!!! Hee-hee-hee-heee!!!!  (Did she just refer to herself as fat?  Well at least she is showing small fragments of self-awareness.  And she was giggling as if she had just come up with something so funny and creative that she was expecting me to be ultra impressed.  I wasn’t impressed).

Me: I’m not sexually attracted to fat chicks. Therefore, I’m not “going fat.” And you are a fat chick. You basically just said so yourself. And I’m assuming by “tat,” you mean tattoo, right?  I regret to inform you of this, but I’m not getting one of those either. I hate tattoos.  And what on Earth do you honestly believe that I would get a tattoo of?

Chrisa Fardrow: You would be so blown away and satisfied with how well I ride your cock, that you would get a tattoo of my name on your ass!

Me: I guarantee that will NEVER happen.  And it’s not even relevant because we are not going to have sex. Now please give me my keys back so I can revive my buzz that you have successfully managed to kill.

Chrisa Fardrow: Nope. You are either staying with me, or I am staying with you.  You are to drunk to be trusted with your keys. (She began dangling my keys in front of my face again, taunting me with them).

At this point, I was down to one option if I wanted to get my keys back and get this girl away from me. This option was to quickly yank my keys that she was still dangling in front of my face and if she pulled her hand which held my keys away, I had to wrestle the keys away from her and sprint to my dorm as fast as I possibly could.  This is what I did. And I was able to grab them before she could pull her hand away.

Immediately after grabbing the keys, I took off in a desperate, drunken sprint towards my dorm. Seriously, if you were to take a picture of me running towards my dorm at that moment, you would notice a grimace on my face similar to the expressions of Olympic-caliber sprinters running for the gold in the 100 meter dash. As I sprinted towards my dorm with my keys in my hands, I imagined myself as being Carl Lewis, running in the 1992 Barcelona Olympics.

However, just when I thought that I was on the verge of making a clean getaway and that the situation couldn’t possibly get any worse than it already was, things became much, much worse.

As I was passionately sprinting to my dorm, I noticed that the world wasn’t passing by as fast as it should have been considering the effort that I was putting into the sprinting. In other words, for as hard as I was pushing myself to run at an amazingly fast pace, things seemed to be moving by very, very slowly. I wasn’t making my way to my dorm very quickly, to say the least.

Shortly after noticing this, I found out why things seemed this way.

Suddenly I heard a loud, obnoxious, high-pitched scream that pierced my ears.  To be honest, the scream kind of resembled what I would expect a combination of Lisa Kudrow and Chris Farley to sound like, at an extremely high octave.

Confused and startled I stopped sprinting, with intentions of discovering why this girl was carrying on this way. She sounded as if she were in agonizing physical pain.  Surely she wasn’t THAT upset that I ditched her. After stopping, I looked behind my shoulder and noticed that despite the fact that I felt like I had sprinted at the rate of a racing Ferrari, this girl was RIGHT behind me. Like, within inches. Then I noticed that our right hands were somehow connected to each other.

It was at this moment that I discovered that when I grabbed my keys from her hand and began sprinting, this girl had put one of the key-rings of my keys around her finger. When I grabbed the keys and sprinted towards my dorm, I had been dragged her by her finger for at least 30 meters.  This explained why the world seemed to be passing by so slowly when I was in an all out passionate sprint towards my dorm.

The screams continued.  In fact they hadn’t stopped or eased up in terms of octave. She had been screaming loud as hell the entire time. She took the key ring off her fingers and stuffed them in her pocket with her unwounded left hand. I visually examined her finger and it looked AWFUL. Her damn finger had already swollen up to 2-3 times the size of her other fingers, which says a lot because her fingers were proportionate to the rest of her body. Which meant her fingers were big and chubby.  And her pointer finger now had the width of the average person’s big toe. She continued to scream and carry on and I didn’t know what to say.  I was still annoyed with the entire situation, but felt awful that I accidentally injured the shit out of this girl’s finger.  I ended up muttering “oh shit, I am so sorry about that. I didn’t mean to do that. Are you going to be okay?” She screamed, “No, I’m NOT okay. Oh my God it hurts so bad!!!”

Some other people who had seen all of this take place ran up to us when they heard her frantic screaming. Initially, they were laughing because they thought it was funny watching me trying so hard to escape from her. However, when they saw her finger, they immediately changed their tones. They went from laughing hysterically to having a serious, worried and concerned demeanor. One of them said to her, “wow, you need to get your finger checked out! That looks broken!” She continued screaming at the top of her lungs in a pain-induced frenzy, “oh my God! Oh my God! It hurts! Oh my God!” One of the dudes was like, “hey, someone call Jeff over here.  Jeff is starting pre-med and will probably be able tell her what the damage is.”

This Jeff dude was standing about 15 meters away and was conversing in a group of people who had been watching the majority of my interaction with this girl take place from the moment she began speaking to me. They were laughing their asses off the entire time. Jeff approached and began conducting range of motion exercises with her finger.  IMMEDIATELY after he began doing this, her finger made loud crunching noises.  He looked at her and told her, “I am 100% certain that your finger is broken.  You need to seek medical attention as soon as possible.”

Her agonizing pain-induced screams continued.  She was experiencing pain that I don’t even want to imagine. However, since this pre-med yuppy informed her that she needed to go to the hospital to get it taken care of, I figured this would be a perfect time to discreetly leave and make my way to my dorm. I said, “well I am sorry about all this, I hope your finger gets better, but I’m gonna go back to my dorm to get some sleep. By the way, can I get my keys back? I think you put them in your pocket after you took my key-ring off your finger.”

Her response was unbelievable. She went from screaming bloody-murder at the top of her lungs to angrily responding to my request to get my keys back by saying, “NO!!! You AREN’T going back to your dorm by yourself!!! You are WAY too drunk!”

I couldn’t believe it. How and why on Earth had she not given up on this? I mean, I had accidentally broken this girl’s finger while sprinting to get away from her and her finger was now swollen to the point where it literally looked like a hot dog. Not to mention, you’d think she’d be butt-hurt that I didn’t even make an attempt to ensure that she had a ride to the emergency room. Instead, despite the agonizing pain she was in, I acted insensitive and still seemed more concerned with getting my keys back from her than her broken finger.

YOU’D THINK SHE WOULD HATE MY GUTS AND WANT NOTHING TO DO WITH ME A LONG TIME BEFORE IT GOT TO THIS POINT. But no.  I accidentally broke her finger due to trying so hard to get away from her and she still INSISTED that I didn’t get my keys back, for she wanted to stay the night with me and have sex.

I attempted to bargain with her. I said, “alright, I will let you walk me to my dorm to make sure I get there safely. However, you are not allowed to enter my room. Do we have a deal?”  She responded while still grimacing in pain, “yeah, that’s fine, but I still want to hang out in your dorm.” I replied, “well, I can’t promise that.  Just get me there and give me my keys and maybe we can work something out.”

We started walking towards my dorm.  To be honest, I was embarrassed to be seen walking to my dorm with her, for I didn’t want anyone thinking I was hooking up with her. I could hear everyone in their little groups talking to each other, saying things like, “dude, that girl needs to see a doctor, now” and “holy cow, is Rico actually hooking up with her? He probably thinks he owes it to her after breaking her finger.” It was a walk of pure shame.

When we arrived at the door to my dorm room, she managed to piss me off even more.  She opened my door and barged inside my dorm and turned the light on, which immediately annoyed my roommate, who was in a dead sleep.  My roommate was one of our wrestling team’s 197 pounders. A big dude. A Junior. He was actually one of my practice partners as well. Just an ox, and a cool dude.

I immediately jumped in my bed on the bottom bunk and sprawled out and covered myself in blankets.  This girl sat in the chair next to the bed and kept trying to rub my head and talk to me, in which I didn’t respond. For about 10 minutes, she sat there saying, “Rico?  Ricoooooo???  Come on Rico!!! I’m ready to have sex now! Ahh, my finger REALLY hurts.  Rico?  You awake, Rico? Ricoooooo???”

Finally, my roommate, who was very studious and had class at 8:00 AM the following morning, lost his temper and said, “listen you fat bitch! Get the hell out of my room before I either throw you out or beat your ass if you are unwilling to leave. I need some freaking sleep! I have a test in an important class tomorrow! So get the hell out of here, now!”  This guy was an engineering major who worked his ass off in school. He took it ultra-serious and it paid off, for he is an general manager at a large, successful factory now.

The girl responded with, “oh my God, you are scaring me! I’m leaving! I should probably go to the hospital anyways.  Let’s hang out sometime, Rico.”  WHAT THE HELL. She still wanted to hang out in the future?!? And why was it so easy for my roommate to get rid of her?  Ugh!!!

When she left the room, I said to my roommate, “dude, sorry for waking you up, man. And you have no idea how much you just saved my ass right there.  Seriously, man.  It was crazy.”  My roommate responded with, “Rico, what the hell are you doing hooking up with ugly, fat girls like that?! I know you are only a Freshman and you’ll make mistakes, but take my advice on this.  Stay away from fat chicks.  Not only are they gross, but they are freaking crazy. I’ll be personally disappointed in you if you hook up with another fat chick in the future.”  I was like, “DUDE, you DON’T understand what just happened…” My roommate interrupted me by saying, “trust me, I do understand. I know all about fat chicks and how crazy they can be.” I replied with, “but dude, I wasn’t hooking…..ugh, nevermind. Good night man and good luck on your test tomorrow morning.”  He thanked me and seconds later, began snoring.

Algebra class the following Monday was  very awkward for me, but Chrisa Fardrow treated me as nicely as she always did…as if nothing happened a few nights prior. She was very tolerable and pretty cool when sober. I arrived in the classroom first and she entered the room a minute or so after me and sat down next to me and said cheerfully, “hey Rico!” I responded with, “hey.” I noticed that her finger was wrapped up, so I asked, “so what is the news on your finger?” She replied, “umm the doctor said it’s broken. It hurts like a sonofabitch. Just a drunk wound I guess.” I responded with, “damn that sucks, I am sorry about that.” She said, “don’t worry about it, its okay. Oh btw, can I copy your math assignment?” I replied, “sure.”

After that first semester my Freshman year, I never had class with her again. After a couple years, I couldn’t even remember her name anymore. Eventually she just became another random face on campus who blended in with everyone else…it got to the point where I didn’t think of that weird night when I’d see her around. She was just another face. I just think it is interesting, how in time, someone who you have such a weird experience with can become nothing more than just another face that blends in with the others.

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