pressing the “copy” button.

originally posted 03.03.07

NEVER call your fraternity a frat.
would you call your country a cunt?

many of you may not know that i’m a bona fide frat boy. shocking, i know.

granted, i wasn’t quite as cheeseball as your garden variety granolahead white boys in a fraternity. despite my brown-ness i know the secret handshakes and i will bust that shit out if provoked. be impressed.

the most memorable aspect of the whole “frat boy” experience is the pledging. there are dozens of typical pledge experiences that college kids across the country inevitably share. one of those typical experiences is being sent on scavenger hunts. more drunken, lazy white people acquire random pieces of swag from scavenger hunts then you could ever imagine. road signs, neon beer advertisements, athletic equipment from rival schools, et cetera. even shit thats nailed down is fair game.

when it was my turn to take part in that ritual our pledge class was sent to the city of boston. eight of us stuffed ourselves in a honda accord with a list of fifty items we absolutely could not return to the fraternity house without. the delivery of the list was hilarious. the entire brotherhood crowded around us as we squirmed our way through standing in the 12″x12″ box drawn on the floor. and what if any part of a pledge touches the floor outside the box? then everyone takes a lap around the building. as we formed a living totem pole (pause), the pledgemaster read off the list of items we were to retrieve. i can’t recall all fifty but some of the highlights were as follows:

• a pack of rolling papers signed by a police officer (photo of cop doing so required)
• a photo of a harvard girl’s nekkid breasts
• one sign from inside fenway park
• one human umbilical cord

that last one raised an eyebrow, i bet. let me tell you – it is SOOO not easy to talk someone into giving up an umbilical cord. for something that essentially has no resale value you’d be surprised how unwilling people are to part with them. we ended up acquiring the umbilical cord of a pig…because how would anyone know that it WASN’T a human umbilical cord? we cut a lot of corners when it came to fulfilling these bizarre requests. however, there were certain requests that compelled our full effort.

prepare to be mooned.

the brothers took a lot of care to make some items on our scavenger hunt list particularly difficult by assigning them to specific pledges. the kid who got the least play from the ladies had to obtain the signature of 12 sorority chicks on his upper thigh. the kid who was a bit too aggro against gay people had to have his ass signed by the bartender of a notorious gay bar in boston (photo evidence was required…and trust me you want no part of that photo). being the big kid, i had to have a photocopy of my bare ass signed and faxed to the house by 3 p.m. that afternoon. this is where things got interesting…

as we set about retrieving all the items on the list our pledge class broke into groups (in order to accomplish our mission more efficiently). i was teamed with bryan m, a sarcastic rich kid from jersey who up to that point had spoken exactly twelve words to me all semester. nevertheless we rolled through the city like old friends, completing one task after another on our portion of the list. finally, it was 1:30 and we still had not gotten my ass photocopied. both of us kept an eye out for copy machines that were in private, out of the way corners. this proved to be a difficult find considering that it was mid-afternoon on a beautiful spring day. still – time was running out. my ass had to be copied.

now there’s a sentence i never thought i would type.

i assume you’re looking for me?

anywho, bryan m. and i settled on trying to obtain the photocopy by using one of the machines in the boston public library. we scanned the aisles looking for far-flung corners of the stacks that featured a lonely copy machine. sadly, everywhere we looked seemed to have at least some sort of foot traffic. after a half hour of scoping out the scene we finally decided to use the machine on the 3rd floor. it was sort of in a corner, and if bryan played his part as my lookout the deed could be done quickly without anyone noticing the sketchyness.

as soon as the coast was clear bryan set up shop. with the copier in sight i began walking backwards and very nonchalantly dropped my pants just enough so that my asscheeks were exposed. i hopped up ever so slightly and rested my bare ass on the cold copy machine window. bryan spun around and whisper/shouted “pssst, a lady’s coming!”

i bounced off the machine and hoisted up my pants. the chick turned the corner and came right for me. i stood there – dumbstruck – and ill prepared for whatever this lady had to say to me. but instead of berating me for letting my cheeks hang out she merely opened the front of the copier and placed a fresh ream of paper into its bowels. as she turned and left bryan and i let out sighs of relief.

again, i gently rested my booty on the machine’s window and pressed the “copy” button. fuck, i forgot to put in a dime. i hopped off the copier, dug into my pocket and dropped a quarter into the machine thinking i could take an extra copy as a safety. my butt now returned to the increasingly less cold glass as bryan encouraged me to hurry the fuck up.

my pants were sagging down low. low enough that the “copy” button was obscured and i kept missing it with my fingers. as i groped for the button i ended up bouncing ever so slightly on my backside. as i finally found my target i leaned back so that the copy would take an accurate picture (as if i knew what a xerox’d ass is supposed to look like). it surely was that last lean back that was my big mistake. the glass copy machine window suddenly gave way with a violent crash. and there i was. ass deep in a copy machine.

now EVERYONE was looking.

you know that florescent light rod that probes your documents, recording the image? yeah, not so comfortable. time seemed to stand still as bryan and i exchanged horrified facial expressions. suddenly the world sped up to four times its normal speed as i leapt out of the copier and we began running for our lives. we made such a scene that the library security guards were upon us in no time.

as we sprinted for the front exit i yanked up my pants and felt the sharp sting of what could only be shards of glass. in my ass. and i must say this was absolutely the fastest that i have ever run in my life, because the security guards were running us down like rottweilers with a taste for human blood…still, we managed to keep ahead of them. bryan and i flew down the excessively ornate and twisting front lobby stairs yelling with terror. we bolted right past the metal detectors and bursted out the revolving doors into the bright boston afternoon.

MOVE BITCH! get out the way!

a word about where the boston public library is located. the boston public library can be found in the historic copley square section of downtown. every year thousands of tourists clog the streets, taking in the sights and sounds. they marvel at famous landmarks. they enjoy world class food and shopping. they also rally in copley square because it is the staging area for the boston marathon. it just so happened that the annual twenty-six mile run occurred on the very day my story takes place.

as bryan and i burst through the front door of the library we were surprised to see the street jam packed with enthusiastic humans. thousands of fans were cheering on hundreds of runners as they kicked their way down the streets of boston. with hostile security guards hot on our heels, bryan and i shoved through the crowd up to the street. not to be deterred by any impediments, we slipped under the wooden barricade and joined the marathon runners for about three quarters of a mile.

weaving through the confused athletes, we stood out like a sore thumbs because we were sprinting at top speed and not dressed in those nut-hugger runner’s shorts. we kept looking over our shoulder, and it wasn’t clear if the guards were still giving chase or not. communicating non-verbally, bryan and i agreed to dip for the subterranean subway station up ahead. like true new yorkers we hopped the turnstiles and made for the red line. escape was ours.

a handful of stops later bryan and i got off the train and headed for the surface. i let homeboy know that i needed some alone time in the bathroom to investigate the wounds to my booty. after closer examination in a bathroom stall, the injuries to my ass were not very serious. as i gingerly exited the bathroom i was met by four of my pledge brothers who withered into laughing blobs of caucasian goo at the sight of me. apparently they randomly found bryan, and he broke off news of our adventure. humiliated, i reminded the giggling bastards that the time was now 2:30 and i still had not photocopied my ass. we had to get back on task.

i was so embarassed that even i had to laugh. these clowns made with the jokes and i kept an eye out for another place where we could attempt to copy my ass. we finally walked into a bodega that had a copy machine, and i set myself to completing the mission. wise-guys that my pledge brothers were, they decided it was best if they all took an extremity in hand and lowered me gently on to the glass this time. the trick worked. zzzzip went the machine as it spit out a picture of a narrow line between two meaty slabs. i brought the copy up to the register and paid a dime to the snickering clerk. we were on our way.

saved by a bodega.

a couple of blocks away we found a kinko’s. i broke out a sharpie and using every last drop of wit my little brain could muster, i scrawled out the phrase: “this butt’s for you. love, j.r.20k”

the fax got to faxin’ and my mission was accomplished. we made it back to campus late that night and the brotherhood was waiting for us. thankfully, my pledge class decided that all our stories from the mission (and trust, i was not the only one who got into shenanigans in boston) were to be kept secrets from the brothers. until right now those tales have all been kept a secret within that little crew. the only reason i share that story now is because i suspect that none of them will care. also – it would be a shame to never share such a tale of humiliation and mischief with the massive.

so there you have it, party people. somewhere in boston there is an obliterated copy machine. thanks to me. and to the the guy who had to foot the bill for that copy machine: FUCK NO i ain’t paying you back.