A few weeks ago, I was talking on the phone late at night with a friend from home. Before I called him, I went to the west-side lobby of South Quad so I wouldn’t disturb my sleeping roommate.

Killing the mood

My conversation kept being interrupted by loud freshmen drunkenly stumbling through the lobby, so I moved to the quieter Yuri Kochiyama lounge. It was completely dark when I walked in. I could barely make out the couches cluttered around the room and the tables in the back were equally indistinguishable.

Settling down, I resumed my conversation. After I had been talking for at least five minutes, I heard rustling from a nearby couch. Looking over, I saw intertwined legs, bare feet and two faces pressed intimately together.

I told my friend I’d have to call him back.

BRIAN TENGEL

The power of cookies

It was pushing 1 a.m. and my parents were driving me back to my house in Ann Arbor. The entire ride, my dad kept whining that he wanted a “treat,” asking if cookie places would be open. I said no. Think of a seven-year-old child, but then think of that same child after drinking three glasses of wine.

Meanwhile, my mother was in a full-leg cast because she had fractured her knee, and she was whining that she just wanted to go home.

After catching a glimpse of salvation, I risked our safety by shouting “Dad! Turn here!” Like a Christmas miracle, the big purple Insomnia Cookies truck was sitting on Madison Street. My dad thought it was a sign from the heavens and, in awe, he jumped out of the car to buy his holy grail.

LISA HAIDOSTIAN

Airing dirty laundry

I was perched on a dryer waiting for my laundry to finish when someone came in dragging a bulging sack of dirty clothes. Heaving, he flung it on top of the dryer and stopped to catch his breath. His friend came in pulling a similar load. Then they left.

A few minutes later, both came back with two more bags of laundry. Then they left, and then returned with two more each. Nice guys, I thought. They must have volunteered to help their friends carry down laundry.

“Dude!” one guy said. “I can’t believe we’re actually doing laundry. We were like, about to set a record!”

“Yeah dude, it’s been so long! I don’t even remember how to load this shit anymore!”

“Next time, want to see how long we can go without showers?”

“I don’t know, dude, I don’t think I can go any longer than a week.”

“You say that now, man, just wait.”

I stared at my washing machine, willing it to spin faster, and hoped for humanity’s sake that the two were at least quarantined as roommates.

ELAINE LAFAY

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