If Vol. 2 proved anything, it’s that I had a hard time
turning down a dare.
Vol. 3? This is where I stopped waiting for dares… and
started creating my own problems.
Because somewhere between moving into the dorms and
pretending to be a responsible college student, I developed a very specific set
of skills. None of them was on a syllabus. None of them earned credit hours. All
of them were extremely memorable.
Let’s start with what I’ll call “advanced entry
techniques.” Most people used doors. I preferred windows. Second floor,
narrow ledges, questionable footing—it didn’t matter. If I wanted to visit
someone, I wasn’t knocking. I was scaling the outside of the building like a
budget version of something between a cat burglar and a bad decision.
Looking back, one misstep and this story ends very
differently. At the time? Just another day that ended in Y.
Then there was the fine art of “pennying” people into
their dorm rooms. For the uninitiated, you wedge pennies into the doorframe so
the door can’t open from the inside. Simple. Effective. Incredibly annoying. People
missed class. People panicked. People learned new vocabulary. I learned that a
handful of loose change and too much free time can make you a problem real
quick.
But why stop there? I escalated. At some point, we figured
out that dorm walls weren’t just… walls. They were opportunities. With the
right combination of grip strength, balance, and poor judgment, you could climb
up the walls of a hallway and suspend yourself near the ceiling. So naturally,
we turned off the lights and waited. Picture this: pitch black hallway…
someone walking back to their room… minding their own business… and then, from
above them— A chorus of sounds straight out of Friday the 13th. We
didn’t just scare people. We changed their evening plans.
And then there were the rooftops. Apparently, ground level
wasn’t dangerous enough. A few of us got into the habit of making our way up
top on cool San Antonio nights. The view? Incredible. The decision-making? Less
so. At one point, getting from one roof to another involved using an antenna
as… let’s call it a “confidence-based support system.” Not engineered. Not
tested. Just… believed in. Which is a theme you’ll notice.
For reasons I still can’t fully explain, there was also a
phase where sitting on steep, slanted roofs became a form of entertainment. The
steeper, the better. Add in a little liquid courage, throw in what we
confidently referred to as a “moose howl,” and suddenly you’ve got yourself an
evening activity that no one asked for… and no one forgot.
Growing up, I loved the Sweathogs from Welcome Back Kotter! I
loved it when they used the first escape to enter Kotter's apartment... I
relived that moment in Freshman Lit class at St. Mary's in San Antonio. I forgot
if it was the 3rd or 4th floor. Unfortunately for a young Mexican girl with a slight (temporary) crush on me, she tried the same endeavor once (it was enough for her). I climbed into the room, closed and locked the window, and pulled
the blind. Imagine her embarrassment when our Lit teacher let her in after she'd been stranded out there, banging on the window for a few mins. I was not always the gentleman I
am today!
Looking back, it’s easy to laugh. It’s also easy to realize
how thin the margin was between “great story” and “terrible outcome.”
Because none of this was supervised. None of it was planned.
None of it came with a safety net. Here’s the part that sticks with me: We
weren’t trying to be reckless. We were trying to be something. Bold.
Memorable. Fearless. When you’re that age, sometimes the only way you know how
to get there… is by testing limits you probably shouldn’t.
Did I learn everything I was supposed to in college? Debatable.
Did I pick up a handful of skills no one asked for? Absolutely. While none of
them made it onto a résumé… they somehow all made it into fun stories. Stories
that, once again, I’m lucky to still be here to tell. Still standing. Still
tilted. Just with a slightly better appreciation for doors, gravity… and not
climbing things that were never meant to be climbed.
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