“Hey man, don’t open that freezer door. There’s a 3-month old Mexican popsicle that’s been renting it out, and he’s got a baaaaad attitude, dude.”
- – -
Terry Padgett was having a hard time coping with her recent streak of bad luck. The boy she had met over the summer, so sweet and oh-so-”hip”, had failed her. After years of mediocre life on the bottom rung of the high school social ladder, Terry was determined not to repeat the same mistake in college. Not surprisingly though, she had developed a rather eccentric insecurity trigger over her four torturous years of high school. Her insecurity, when coupled with Terry’s PMS, made for a volatile amalgamation.
Terry had been leaning on her first date with Brett (the boy she met) as an inauguration into the world sororities, wild college parties, and the privilege of bearing a “popular” social status. Brett had picked her up in a stunning, gleaming BMW E46 M3 coupe, punctual and sharply dressed. Meanwhile, Terry had finally managed to wrestle her hair down, at the expense of a few cans’ worth of aerosol expelled into the atmosphere. Donning a dangerously short (for Terry, that is) skirt, she awkwardly entered Brett’s car, only to discover awkward silence within.
Things were not going so well – she was constantly compelled to nervously tug at her skirt, the M3’s exhaust was horrendously rancorous, the harsh ride quality agitated her spine, and for Terry… it was “that” time of month again. Tension welled up within her, and her bottom lip quivered slightly. Things soon became disastrous as Brett attempted to break through the reverberating tones of six pumping cylinders.
“So Terry, your last name’s Page, righ-”
At this, Terry broke out in sobs, uncomfortably gasping out “STOP” a few times. Brett, bewildered, pulled off the freeway into the fluorescent white light of a gas station. Inside the car, Terry turned away from Brett, trying to hide her face against the window as much as possible. Within the next few moments, all hell broke loose. Brett reached out for Terry’s arm in an attempt to comfort her, but only managing to incite shrieks mingled with “STOP!!”. Terry swung open the passenger-side door, and clambered hastily out of the cabin. Unused to wearing heels, she twisted her ankle and fell against the car, her belt buckle scraping down against the gleaming black bodywork. The sound of metal against metal switched off all chivalrous mannerisms within Brett’s mind, instantly pumping red hot blood through his veins. He scrambled out of his car, running over to the passenger side to examine the damage. Holding his head in his hands, Brett began cursing unintelligibly at Terry, eventually letting one last high pitched “RRRRRRRRRGH!” and tearing out of the gas station, tires squealing.
And there Terry was left, sitting down against a gas pump, her skin waxy yellow under bright, energy-efficient lighting, her dreams dashed to pieces.
- – -
“I said, DON’T open the freezer door!” the man called out anxiously. A short, slightly chubby, lightly bearded man in his early twenties hobbled over a couch over to the refrigerator door, casually blocking Terry and leaning against the fridge at the same time. “Don’t open it!” he reprimanded, wagging an index finger at Terry.
“Oh, wow, you’re uhm – fast.” Terry gibbered out, bottom lip quivering dangerously. “I’m Terry, y-your new roommate.” She awkwardly held her left hand up for a handshake, breaking out in a forced, sheepish grin. Her roommate, nose held up in the air, held up his left hand and returned her handshake, before kindly showing Terry a path away from the freezer.
Good fortune? Blasphemy. For Terry Padgett, her college life has yet to see a hint of a smile upon Lady Luck’s lips.
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