Homecoming, Part I

The joys of Homecoming week are well-chronicled. Midterms are completed, parties are a nightly given and the tailgate of the year looms to culminate a great week.

This week did not follow the script. To begin, we were burdened with a sorority that was our not our first choice, not even our second, but instead our sixth choice, all after locking with our number 1. Unfortunately, due to some sororities' improper gift giving after the original match ups were determined, the Office of Fraternity Life took this opportunity to reshuffle how match ups are determined, and elected to have fraternities select the sorority of their choice, with the selection order to be determined by grade point average. Needless to say, this put us at a severe disadvantage, and our sorority of choice was snatched up long before we were called to the podium to make our selection.

Then, a bomb exploded. I was forced to remove a pledge from the process, and worse of all, I could not detail to him, his pledge brothers or the fraternity why. And even now, the issue is still too fresh for me to detail it in this space, so that story will have to wait for a later date.

Finally, mercifully, the weekend came and with it, the yearly Homecoming tailgate. Graduate Brothers from near and far flood State College Town, all looking to reminisce and drink their asses off. Unfortunately, they brought the first rain drops State College Town has seen in some weeks, casting a frown upon the glorious celebration.

Undeterred, we pressed on through the droplets and the wind; food and beer were abundant, there was a great turn out of faces I hadn't seen in months, and pretty soon the competitions got under way. Unfortunately, that competition cut my day short.

I am an avid cornhole player. It has quickly become my favorite game, far surpassing washers, ladder golf, and even beer pong. As such, I am a horrible sport in defeat, and my losses are typically accompanied with a fit of rage. Saturday, I was playing with my dear friend and recent graduate, Cheesy. Unfortunately, the wind and rain were affecting our game, but not our opponents, and we were getting worked. With the game to 21, and the other team already at 20, my opponent stepped up and sank his first shot, worth three points. I then attempted to respond by going for the cornhole, which I missed and left off the board. He responded by walking off, declaring victory and refusing to shoot further, leaving me to shoot my last three shots consecutively, and should I miss the board even one time, defeat would be sealed. Needless to say, this show of disrespect riled and my booze-addled brain up.

Throughout the game, the rain-soaked bags bounced and slid all over the place, but I had begun to find my groove, and landed my second and third shots on the board. I had already admitted defeat, but I refused to be shown up; I wanted to force him to make another shot to beat me. So I aim for the last one, it hits the board, and bounces right off. We lose, I chuck my half-full beer can as far as I can...

...Shit... and sliced open my index finger on the open aluminum top.

"Oh well, that sucked," Cheesy began, before noticing the blood streaming down my arm. "Dude, what happened?"

"I just ripped open my hand chucking that beer," I deadpanned. "Jeez, that's bleeding a ton."

"It looks pretty deep, dude," Cheesy chuckled. "You might have to go to the hospital."

I ran to the pledges, demanded paper towels, and attempted to wrap up the crater in my finger. I have sliced my fingers many times while chopping vegetables, so this type of injury rarely makes me sweat. But there was a chunk missing from my finger, and the blood was flowing freely, coupled with the fact that I get light-headed merely from the sight of blood. After an hour of applying pressure, sitting on my hand to try to get it to go numb and slow the blood flow, I gave up, called Audrey, and she forced me to go to the ER.

We arrive at the ER, where I had to describe my idiocy for all who attend to me. I have made a couple trips to the ER before, and they are never pleasant. It usually spells a big bill and a long wait. Fortunately, I have a couple months left on mom and dad's insurance, so the first concern was nigh. Because the wound was minor, I would not be forced to see a doctor, which would shorten my wait, which only amounted to about 45 minutes, with another 45 minutes of care, so overall, not too bad.

But the 45 minutes I was forced to wait made me think. There were two other groups that arrived at about the same time as me, and I was seen betwixt them. The first was a young mother with her toddler son and elementary school-aged daughter. The toddler had a hack worthy of a blue-hair at a black jack table in Vegas, and it seemed the only thing that kept his weary mother awake at 4 p.m. on Saturday. I couldn't help but hypothesize about this poor woman, and the awful battle that was waging in her weary head. It is likely she had worked all day Friday, only to come home to find her youngest with a harrowing cough that kept her up all night. It is even more likely she is uninsured, seeing as how she brought him to the emergency room and not the family doctor, and I can only imagine the worry that went through her head as she was kept up by her son's cough the night before while she did calculations in her head, attempting to determine if he needed professional help, and if she could afford it.

I sat not ten feet away, bleeding from a self-inflicted injury, about to receive precious medical attention all because I am a drunk fool, and at the end, the tab would be picked up by pop's place of business. On the other side of the aisle sat a struggling (presumably) single mother with her two children, so exhausted she could barely lift her head to relay information to the attending nurse, gripped with worry for her son and her bank account. I felt physically ill watching this play out before me, and I do not solely contribute that feeling to blood loss. The world is a great teacher, and on a day that I bemoaned the gods for bringing rain down upon me because it didn't make enjoying food and drink with friends as pleasurable, I instead received a dose of reality and a look into how "the other half" lives.