Welcome to College

It was fall of 2000, and after years of being mentally ready to fly the coop, I was finally getting my turn to attend college. A group of my friends from high school had applied for early move in, so we were getting a chance to beat the crowds and get our things situated before the mad rush of official Move-In Day. We packed our bags and hauled our things (with the help of our parents) two hours north of Jackson to Oxford, Mississippi, so we could start our fun filled college adventure at Ole Miss.

The day ran rather smoothly. Together with my roommate, Katie, our cinderblock room on the eighth floor of Martin dormitory became our new haven we would call home for the next few months. We had packed our favorite VHS tapes from the nineties coming of age drama, “Can’t Hardly Wait”, to a forever classic, “The Burbs”. We met new neighbors from Arkansas to Biloxi and quietly judged them by first impressions behind closed doors, as I am sure they were doing as well.

As we said goodbye to our parents, we promised to meet them for breakfast the next morning before they made their way back home. Finally- we were alone and free. We were officially college kids, could make our own rules, and we were extremely happy about it. I looked at my friend, Katie, and simply said, “Now what? What are we going to do tonight?”

“We have to do something. It’s our first night in college!” Katie’s eyes were filled with energetic excitement.

“I know! But what? I mean I know there is a party tomorrow. But I don’t know what we should do tonight.”

Katie thought, “Let’s call the girls and get something together.” We spent the next thirty minutes calling some of our girlfriends from high school- Laura, Betsy, Natalie, Hillary, Kitty, Nealie… and finally we formed a plan. Since a few of them had older brothers who lived in the same neighborhood, we would go over to one of their houses to hang out and watch a movie. We would take it easy together before the big party at The Gin the following night. It was a perfect plan…so I thought.

Our group met in the parking lot and trekked it out to a newly built home off exit 334. The long street was scattered with different bungalows, each housing three or four older college boys. We would eventually learn the area was simply referred to as “334” and would be the location for many past, present, and future late night parties. As we arrived at the one of the brother’s homes we noticed it was very college-esque. It was filled to the brim with tapestries, guitars, beer, and burnt CDs of the most recent set lists from the latest and greatest jam bands. They welcomed us with open arms as they had seen us through all of our awkward years but quickly informed our group they were going out to the bar. The last thing they wanted to do was entertain the newbies, but at least we could have the house to ourselves. Even more perfect! So I thought.

As my girlfriends lounged in the den and discussed what movie to watch and which pizza place to order from, I ventured into the kitchen. It was around seven at night, and I realized the only thing I had eaten that day was a pack of nabs from the quick stop during the drive to Oxford. In my defense, my stomach has always been dodgy, and the transition to college left me not being able to eat much of anything. Nerves I guess. At that point I was starving and looking for anything to eat. I was barely over a hundred pounds soaking wet and was desperate for nourishment. I wondered through and noticed a tray of freshly baked brownies. Now, anyone who knows me knows I cannot say no to a baked good, and that I have quite the sweet tooth. So, I took it upon myself to cut a brownie the size of my hand and devour it right then and there- standing alone at the kitchen island. It was delicious.

I walked back into the den and proudly announced there were some really great brownies in the next room if anyone wanted to try for themselves. My friends were unconcerned and instead chose to wait for the pepperoni pizza they just ordered. I shrugged my shoulders, then positioned myself in the only chair left in the den.

“What movie are we watching?” I asked my friends.

“Eyes Wide Shut,” replied Natalie.

“The Tom Cruise one? Isn’t it kind of weird?”

“I think it’s supposed to be good,” said both Natalie and Betsy. They always had a more artistic flair than the rest of us, so I figured they were right.

I trusted them and got ready to watch the Stanley Kubrick film with my friends. There is one very distinct thing I remember from the movie- the eerily haunting piano music. I’ll never forget it. As I sat in the well-loved, hand me down arm chair, the music coming from the piano keys on the television screen seemed to be getting louder and louder, and creepier and creepier. I also couldn’t feel my feet.

“Guys I don’t feel well,” I announced not too long after the movie started.

“You probably need to eat something,” Laura and Katie replied.

“I just ate a huge brownie. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I feel really weird.”

Betsy gave a concerned look at Natalie. “Wait a second. Where did you find those brownies?”

“In the kitchen. Why?”

Betsy jumped up from the couch and disappeared. While my toes and legs became increasingly numb, she called her older brother. When she returned to movie night in the den, she had a worried look on her face, but chuckled as she said, “Suz. You just ate pot brownies. My brother’s roommate made them and said they are really strong.”

“What?!” I panicked. Extreme paranoia immediately hit me like a tons of bricks. Now, I was no angel, and had been known to have an underage drink or two, but I was extremely naïve (clearly from my snack choice) and had always said no to drugs- just like Kirk Cameron from those early nineties D.A.R.E. commercials had taught me.

“What is going to happen to me? Am I going to die?” I frantically yelled as I sank deeper and deeper into the endless abyss of extreme paranoia. I couldn’t feel my hands. Then I couldn’t feel my face. I started to sweat.

My friends were both equally nervous and amused. They couldn’t believe I had taken it upon myself to accidently eat the biggest and strongest pot brownie I could find on my very first night of college. They each took turns laughing (understandably) and checking on me with genuine concern.

As the piano music grew louder and louder in my altered mind, I begged my friends to take me to the hospital. I realized that I would have to call my parents if I went to the hospital, so I took back the request and begged them not to take me. I continued to spiral and finally said, “You have to call someone to help me!”

The girls got their heads together and called the two boys who lived next door. They were just a year older, and we had known them from high school. The girls figured these experienced nineteen year old boys surely could help. It was also quite embarrassing given the fact that one of them just happened to be my crush, and unintentionally high as a kite from a giant brownie was not the look I was going for. After a few minutes, Michael and Will walked into the den where I was lying on the floor telling my friends I was dying, while the creepy “Eyes Wide Shut” piano music played in the background, louder and louder. Michael and Will tried not to laugh and did what they thought was best. They gave me a Tylenol and a tall glass of water. Yes…a Tylenol.

I was so desperate for something to fix me that I agreed the Tylenol would help. The boys gently positioned me back into the arm chair I started from then told me to relax, watch the movie, and ride the ride. I crossed my legs, rested one elbow on the armrest, propped up my cheek in one hand, and thanked them as they said goodbye. I sat statue still and was too scared to move an inch. I gently closed my eyes in state of paranoid relief.

The next time I opened my eyes, it was seven o-clock the following morning. I had not moved a muscle and was in the exact position the boys left me in- cheek propped up in my hand, legs crossed, shoes on. A couple of my girlfriends were sprawled out on the couch, not wanting to leave me, next to the remnants of pizza that was apparently delivered while I slept off my brownie. The hot August sun was starting to shine through the window panes of the front door, gently nudging the others awake. “What a night,” I thought to myself.

We eventually got ourselves together and made it back to the dorm by eight thirty. As soon as I entered the eighth floor of Martin, I kicked it into high gear, showered, and changed so my parents wouldn’t ask why I was in the same clothes they saw me in yesterday. After all, we were supposed to meet for breakfast. I certainly couldn’t say, “Well, you see, we went to an older boy’s house, and I accidentally ate a huge pot brownie, then had a complete melt down only to fall asleep in the arm chair in my clothes. No big deal mom and dad. My crush gave me a Tylenol and fixed everything.”

Finally, I made it to breakfast with my parents. They were bright eyed and bushy tailed as they asked me, “What did you do last night for your first night in college?”

I took a sip of my water and thought about my response. I knew if I told them anything about my accidental brownie experience there was a good chance they would not leave me in Oxford, and I couldn’t bear the thought of having to go back to Jackson, Mississippi, with an eleven- o-clock curfew while all my friends reveled in their freshmen year without me. After a few quiet moments passed, I nonchalantly replied, “Oh nothing. Just watched a movie with some of my friends. It was pretty uneventful.”

This delicious brownie recipe from The Delta Magazine Cookbook is a crowd pleaser. They taste like a chocolate sheet cake and are divine. It’s up to you to choose what you add or do not add. I, myself, tend to just stick with the recipe as I’ve been burned before.

I sure do wish those boys would have had this pan for their kitchen. Check out these baking pans on Calm Down Caren. This website has plenty of hilarious gift ideas.