No sex isn't always bad

I had just turned 19 and was going to uni in the States. It was miles away from anything interesting and as a travel-obsessed youngster I was chopping at the bit to move away. So I got a job. As a front-desk receptionist at a hotel near my campus. Boring, yes. Shit pay, yes. But a job, nevertheless.

There was a British guy in my dorms who I thought I might fancy. Probably only because he was from England. Americans held no interest for me because duh, they were American. I don't think I even thought this Brit was cute. I just wanted his internationality. Talk to me. Tell me what it's like in the UK. Better than here, I'm sure.

We went on a date. To the comedy club in the hotel that I worked at. He was 20 with a fake ID and I got in because of my employed status. I don't remember Britboy's name so let's call him Harry. Harry was wasted already when we met up and using a fake cockney accent. I could tell it was fake because a) there were times when a bit of poshness leaked out and b) I may have been a bit naive but not completely dimwitted.

"'ello luv. 'ow you doing tonight? Let's go piss ourselves laughing." I was jealous that he was so drunk. How dare he get tanked before our date without even inviting me along! I let it pass, though. Because you know. He was British.

We took our seats and the comics are shit. Really, outstandingly awful. Harry's ordered more beers and is laughing like it's the most hilarious thing he's ever heard. I'm getting a sinking feeling in my gut. The whole evening is garish and tacky. I wanted to hit Harry over the head, guzzle his beer, and run back to the safety of my dorm room. I was starting to think that just because Harry was British didn't mean that he was interesting.

The date finally came to an end when we got to our dorms. I headed up to the sixth floor and he headed up to the tenth. I said goodbye, you're very nice--yes, a nice chap, I agree, I'll see you around. Five minutes after having heaved sweet sighs of relief in my dorm but feeling I don't know, a bit lonely, I got a knock on my door.

Harry stood there swaying drunkenly and said, "We're jamming in our room up the apples and pears. Fancy joining?" Apples and pears? Seriously? He's going through some effort, apparently. And that was enough for me. I shrugged my shoulders and said, "Ok."

Harry's room had about four other guys in it and a shitload of weed smoke. There was a cute guy holding a red guitar and I sat by him. Harry fell over the couch and muttered something drunkenly about how the couch always moves on him. Stupid couch. Then he shouts out in front of everyone, "Eh Kathryn! Got any British in you?" I could see where this was going..."No." I answered. "Would you like some? Heh heh heh." Man. He was so funny. That was a good one. Everyone thought so.

Harry's drunken stupor was getting really annoying. So we all put him to bed. Wrapped him up in his blankeys and sang him a lullaby. The guy just wouldn't go away, though. By this time Red Guitar Boy and me were giving each other the roving eye and kind of liking it. Harry was a fly in our ointment and he had to be taken out immediately.

Red Guitar Boy and me went back to his room. Heavy petting commenced to the background tunes of Phish. The banjos and country twangs to Snoop Dogg's 'Gin and Juice' was rolling along, contributing to the already weird atmosphere of the night. I stroked my hand down Red Guitar Boy's back and all of a sudden his body started jerking involuntarily. What the fuck? Is this a seizure? What's going on? A list of things that could go wrong ran through my head and I wondered if I would have to call an ambulance. The jerking last about ten seconds and then all of a sudden he said, "Sorry."

As I was contemplating what that meant, there was a loud banging on the door. "Red Guitar Boy! Get out here! We've called the police on Harry!" Huh? What the hell? We looked at each other and collectively thought, "Shit."

We ran out of his room and instantly the stink hit. Oh. My. God. Someone clearly didn't make it to a toilet in time. Then I looked down the florescent hallway and saw Harry passed out cold with his pants around his legs. Poo was dribbling out of him. It was foul.

Friend of his says to Red Guitar Boy, "We've called the police cuz we can't wake him up. What an asshole, man." I was about to get the hell outta there when Harry gets wind of what's happening. He tries to stand up and slips. Tries again and makes a stumbling way past us to the showers, bits of shit running down his legs into his jeans. I'm looking away thinking this is the crappiest night ever (literally) and that I should've just stayed in watching Friends dvds. Two minutes later and two cops arrive. They go into the showers and I can hear Harry pulling the shower curtain off the rail. There's some incoherent shouting and finally the two policeman are escorting out a very drunk but now clean Harry wrapped up in a shower curtain. They take him down the elevator and I say to Red Guitar Boy, "This has been weird. Yeah. I'll see you later." I took the stairs down two at a time and ran into my room. What just happened tonight?

The next day I ran into Red Guitar Boy walking into the dorm tower lobby. He pretended not to even know me. I was really quite relieved about that. Harry, on the other hand, felt the need to apologize to me. He sought me out and said, "Ah, hey Kathryn. Er, so, yar, um, I'm so sorry. I don't normally act that way. Sorry about that." And he took off. His cockney accent gone along with his dignity. It took the edge off of living in America thinking there are such weirdos lurking in the UK like him. So, actually, he did me a favor.

*This was written due to this post.