Chill the fuck out man

I think I can honestly say now, after being out of college for 6 months, that this has been the hardest transition of my life. I went from four straight years of changing the environment in which I lived in, to now spending my nights back in my childhood bedroom. Which, as a side note, is painted bright as fuck blue, which may not be a Crayola official box used name, but believe me you know the color when you see it. It’s the color that bothers me as much as the reminder I get when I see it; that I at one point my life I thought this would look good.
Thinking back on each of the last four years of college I thought of a story from freshman year that I don’t believe I have told many people. The story is of the only time in my life that I became completely consumed by fear and probably almost shit myself. With all I know now about psychology and what not, I’m pretty sure I experienced what most experts would call a panic attack.

It was freshman year and I was living in Loftus hall room #45a. It was around the middle of October, I remember this specifically because there was a Red Socks playoff game on the night, and being stuck with two redsock fan pricks, it was the only thing we were watching and talking about. Not wanting to miss a second of the game, my suite mate Mike and his friend Joe concocted the genius idea of smoking a blunt in the room. Not having any money or weed at the time, they offered to smoke me on the blunt so long as we smoked it in my room. Seemed like a fair deal, and with the fan in the window, I thought, what harm could come. My roommate Matt decided to head down the hall while we smoked; clearly sensing that maybe this was not a bright idea and wanting no part in the potential trouble this could bring. After finishing up the blunt we decided to leave the scene of the crime and let the room air out a bit. I went down to doug and tex’s to chill and needless to say I was retarded. (Any pot smoker will tell you that smoking with a chance of being caught always intensifies the high.) After bullshitting for about 5 minutes with those guys we hear for the first time ever in Loftus hall the fucking fire alarm. Immediately I’m sent into a panic, if for no other reason, then from the usually paranoia of being high and hearing loud unexpected noises. As were walking down the hall I begin to think in my head about how that smoke could have some how triggered the alarm. “Impossible” I thought, “there’s just no way.” It was not until we reached the staircase that Mike Hendry informs me and anyone else in a 15ft radius that the fire alarm lights were blinking with #45a shining through as the lettering behind it. “HOLY FUCK!”, I thought and I just went blank. I could not even get a word out, my mind, heart and anything else that can race was at full alert. Thoughts flashed in my head, “It was just over a month into college and I just set the fuckin fire alarm off smoking a blunt.” How the fuck can I get out of this sshit! How can I explain this to my parents!? Immediately I knew there was no way and I was going to be expelled, I was completely fucked. I even could see the meeting with my parents and the brothers clear as day in my head and believe me it wasn’t going so well.

Not explaining myself to anyone I rushed off and made my way over to Cannones pizza, stumbled inside, and found Joe sitting at a table eating a slice of Sicilian pizzia. “You hear the fire alarm went off?” I told him. “NO WAY?” he says, “Man that really sucks for you…hey we weren’t in there or nothing alright, there’s no reason you should be taking us all down. We were just chilling in mike’s room alright?” This fucking guy, here I am across from him practically convulsing, sweating, pale as fuck, and all he tells me is you better not rat on us. This set me over the top; I start getting dizzy and stuttering out words which must have just sounded completely illiterate and started to feel like I was about to vom all over the place. I started to shake like it was all of a sudden below zero in this place. While this freak out is going on, this mother fucker across from me never stops eating his pizza. Through this entire breakdown, I can still just picture him sitting there eating as calm as day, as if we were having a pleasant Sunday morning conversation. Finally after a few minutes of my shaking and speaking in tongues, he looks at me and says, “you just gotta chill the fuck out man, maybe it was something else.” Few minutes went by, and once I had somewhat pulled myself together, I walked back to Loftus in time to see that everyone had started walking back in. I walked up and asked someone “Jesus, what happened here?” as if I had just arrived back, “some idiot burnt some pancakes on the 3rd floor, everything is alright now.” I later would find out that fire zone 45a was the 3rd floor lobby, apparently the basement is where they start their zoning numbers. Also my RA did smell weed in our room as he walked around making sure we had all evacuated. All things considered though, I got lucky. I had assumed the worst case scenario and caused my mind and body to react as if it had. This of course was partially Mike Hendry’s fault, but I also think that my propensity to see the worst in a situation, the fact that I was high and paranoid, and I’m sure a few other factors played a part.

Now over four years later, I would just like to formally thank Joe, wherever he may be, for what may have been the greatest advice I have ever received, and words that I have referenced in countless situations of my own panic and toward others since; “you just gotta chill the fuck out man."

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