The Vicodin Diaries

"Hey Kelly, do you have any super embarrassing "first day of school" stories to share?"

Yep.

I don't know how college is for most people, since I went to Wayne State University, which was primarily a commuter school.  I missed the whole dorms/sorority/party thing, and lived the dream with my parents.  (Who still did my laundry.)(And bought my food.)(And paid my car insurance.)  It was rough.

I also majored in music.  Majoring in music is not the 24 hour jam session I imagined it to be.  There is music theory.  And music history.  And practicing music you don't particularly care for.  And conductors. (*shudder*) Also, the music school is a tiny society unto itself.  The same 75 people have the same classes together Monday through Friday.  They perform together on the evenings and weekends.  Even Gen Ed classes (where you might chance to meet someone outside the realm of melody and harmony) are taken with other music majors because you have the same breaks in your schedule.  To summarize, being a music major is exactly like being in high school.

Imagine my surprise when I showed up junior year to an evening class and didn't know anyone in the entire class.

Let me back it up a smidgen.

I spent the prior evening at work feeling really ill.  So ill, I left work and made my way to Urgent Care around 11:00 p.m.  I had a condition called PCOS that caused painful cysts to form and I just wanted some drugs to make it better the pain to stop.  The Urgent Care doctors were incredibly accommodating, and solely based on my complaint of pain sent me off with a ton of Vicodin.  (Message me for directions to the clinic.)(Just kidding.)(I'm not a middleman but could be for enough money.)(Sheesh - IT'S A JOKE, MOM.)

The funny part of this is that I was straight-edge.  Does anyone remember straight-edge?  It's what hardcore teenagers were before they turned 21.  So I was totally prepared to be handed a ton of Vicodin without any instruction. 

The next morning was the first day of classes and I had the usual music courses in the usual music building, but also the evening class.  It was held on the other side of campus in a building new to me. I was excited.  New people!  New building!  VICODIN!

I took my medicine that day when I thought I should as directed.  I started feeling nauseous late afternoon, which was a different kind of sick than the "shooting pains in my uterus" that initially led me to Urgent Care.  I am a start-to-finish kind of girl, and I really didn't want to miss the first day of class, so I decided to tough it out and attend this New Class!  with New People!  in a New Building!

The class was filled with first/second year teachers that needed continuing ed credits for their professional development requirements.  I was a lowly aspiring music teacher and the only undergrad in the class.  I settled myself firmly in the middle of the classroom.  

This class had way too many desks for the size of the room.  As people trickled in to find a seat, desks got shoved around, and when class finally started, I was wedged in pretty solidly.  I knew after class I would have to free myself from the jumble of desks, much like an icebreaker. (The ship, not the party game.)

My teacher was a no-nonsense kind of woman, the type I immediately want approval from.  She was making it a point to remember our names, paying close attention to our demeanor in class (even as we just went over the syllabus), so I made sure I was attentive and wearing my Pleasant Face.  This was getting more and more difficult as I felt worse.  Class draaaaaaaaaaaaagged on.  With 30 minutes left in class I started looking around to see if I could make a discreet exit.  There were none to be had.  At fifteen minutes left I considered jumping over desks to get the heck out of the room. At three minutes left my teeth started to water and I told myself I only had three minutes and to chill out you can make it, dude.  Besides, how rude would it be to disrupt the entire room with only three minutes to go?

Well, apparently not as rude as bolting from your desk with 30 seconds to go, making it to the door and puking everywhere.  The best part of this was that I tried to catch it in my hands.  This did not have the desired effect of containing the vomit, but only ensured that I now had no way to open the door, as my hands were covered in my own regurgitation.  

Also, since I clamored for the door before we were formally dismissed, everyone was already staring at me before the real show happened.  My teacher, who would now never, ever fully approve of me, asked, "Are you okay?"  to which I replied, "I have trouble with my intestines," which wasn't even true.  It was like the Lie Fairy took over my brain and convinced me that anything in the world would be preferable than admitting to a Vicodin overdose.  And the Lie Fairy is really quick on her feet.

In a show of mercy, someone opened the door to air out the putrid smell and I made a hasty exit, but not without first witnessing my classmates hopping over my barf to escape the room.

So, all my New Friends! in my New Class! in my Newly Christened Building! would forever know me as the Girl Who Pukes in Class.  And THAT'S why you should Just Say No to drugs.

The End.