Further reading: Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24. Also check out the official Livin' Large FAQ, Cast List, Flow Chart 1.0, and Flow Chart 2.0.

The Epilogue to Livin' Large became so epic in size that I'm posting it in installments. The next installment will be posted (probably) on Monday. Today's installment covers some of the minor characters (minor to this story, anyway.). Refer to the Cast List or Flow Charts for quick references.

Chad

Chad remained the dorm manager for the next few years, but he eventually resigned and started working for the school's alumni association. Ostensibly, Chad left the dorm of his own free will. However, BadDave theorizes that he was gently pushed out the door as part of a housecleaning effort associated with a murder that was committed in that dorm during the fall semester of my fourth year. (At that time, I was working as an R.A. at another dorm.) According to BadDave, it wasn't anything personal against Chad...just a way to wipe the slate clean.

While he was still manager, Chad continued to show favoritism toward student athletes. I know, shocker, huh? This directly affected me only once. I was working at the food service one morning when the Future NFL Football Player came through for some breakfast. And by "some" I mean "heaping piles of it." At that time, portion sizes were set and servers were strictly forbidden to give out extra food. Naturally, Future NFL Football Player demanded more than his fair share. Bad news for him. I was done being browbeaten by student athletes, so I refused his "request." He started cursing at me (loudly) and threatened (even more loudly) to do me serious bodily harm if I didn't give him some extra scrambled eggs. (Should anyone be assaulted for rubbery dorm food? I think not.) Again I refused. Then he started pounding his huge, meaty fists on the counter. Plates went flying. It looked like things were about to get ugly when Chad walked in from his office, which was a very short distance from the kitchen.

"What's going on here?" Chad asked.

"He's asking for extra servings," I replied.

"Give it to him," Chad said.

"But Chad, I'm not supposed to..."

"Give it to him, Matt," Chad said.

And so Future NFL Football Player got what he wanted, which really pissed me off, even more so because of everything that had happened with Mat. But I got my revenge. See, he also liked to toast a bagel every day. His habit was to stick the bagel into the toaster, walk through the food line, go out into the cafeteria to get a table and pour a few bowls of cereal, and then return for his now toasted bagel. Well, if I was working that morning or happened to be at breakfast, I would wait for him to go into the cafeteria and then I'd steal his bagel. I didn't eat it...I just threw it away. He'd come in, discover the bagel was gone (he usually assumed someone else was eating it), and then curse up a storm. Then he'd pop in another bagel and go back into the cafeteria. And I'd steal his bagel again. Then he'd come back to find it gone again, get pissed, put in another bagel, then go back out into the cafeteria. And I'd steal his bagel yet again. That would sometimes go on for six or seven bagels, morning after morning, for months. He never caught on.

There's a reason why they say football players are dumb.

The dorm

My dorm was, to put it frankly, a meat party of sadly epic proportions. Nothing but sausage as far as the eye could see. It smelled like dirty socks. It was kind of dreary. During my freshman year, there weren't even curtains on the shower stalls, which meant that all the sausages caught a glimpse of each other's sausage when they were stumbling around in the morning looking for a shower. There was no air conditioning, so the place was freaky hot at the beginning of the school year. Basically, it was a dump.

But I came to love it.

For my fourth and fifth years, I worked as an R.A. and then as the Staff Resident (the boss of the R.A.'s) at my school's best dorm. (Pure luck of the draw there.) The place was a paradise in comparison, and it had girls, which was a major bonus (one I definitely used to my advantage). But I still had a special place in my heart for my old dorm. I always walk by it when I visit the school for football games or whatever. For the first few years after I graduated, I'd even walk around inside just to soak in the memories (while holding my breath against the dirty sock smell). But times change. Soon they started locking all the doors, so you could only get in with a key card. Sure, I could have gone in the front door, but that's what GUESTS do. I still felt like I was a resident.

Sometime last year, I got an alumni newsletter that informed me that the dorm was now co-ed. Sure, I loved living in a co-ed dorm my last two years, but it felt wrong somehow that my old sausage factory now let the opposite sex live there. I called BadDave to complain, but he was indifferent (or at least pretended to be). He told me to get over it. I still haven't. That place still feels like my home away from home, and I still think of room 329 on NE3 as MY room.

The food service

Yeah, I know. Technically this isn't a "character." But it got brought up during the story and the comments...and I have a few things to say about it.

I worked at that dorm's food service for every one of the five years I went to college. I continued working there for two reasons. First, I was so well-liked by the women who managed the kitchen that I was allowed to work without a schedule. In other words, I could just come in an work whenever I felt like it. (And, more importantly, NOT work whenever I wanted.) That's a pretty sweet deal for a college student. Second, I kept getting raises. My pay went up every semester until I was making close to $8 an hour for just showing up to swipe cards or dish out food. Talk about easy money.

This worked in part because the managers were so desperate for help. When I first started going to college, students had to work if they wanted money. While I was there, that started to change. Parents either handed their kids fistfuls of cash or the kids got credit cards. (That was the beginning of the credit boom. Prior to that, getting a credit card required actual liquid assets.) Either way, many students simply stopped working. And suddenly, the food service didn't have enough employees to operate. They started bringing in temp workers and even high school students just to keep things going. This leads me to two of my favorite food service stories.

The first involves a girl named Keehna. She was a 16-year-old cutie from a nearby high school who needed the job. She was so sweet and innocent that I just new something bad was going to happen. Sure enough, she was quickly taken advantage of (read that: boned into quivering submission) by some schmuck freshman who followed up his conquest by (predictably) avoiding her completely. Because I was still a magnet for these stupid situations, Keehna came to me for advice. Repeatedly. (Yes, I could easily have had her on the rebound, but no, I did not.) One night while BadDave and I were watching the NBA on TNT, she called to whine some more. I needed to get her off the phone post hasty.

"Why," she moaned, "would he sleep with me and then not even want to talk to me? I don't get it."

Normally I would have tried to explain the situation in detail, but the Pacers were playing the Knicks. "It's like this, Keena," I said. "To men, sex is like...candy. It sure is great while you're eating it, but once you're done, you just want to forget about it until the next time you want candy."

She started crying even as BadDave began rolling all over the floor in fits of laughter. For the next several years, whenever somebody brought up a sex-themed question, Dave would look at me and say, in a squeaky voice, "It's like caaaaaandy."

The second story goes like this. It was my birthday weekend during my fourth year. Aimee and I had just started dating again for like the zillionth time and she had actually come to me for a change. For some boneheaded reason, I had agreed to cover a buddy's shift on Saturday morning even though I knew Aimee was visiting and that we'd be celebrating something fierce. I have no idea what I was thinking. Now, employees were usually expected to show up before the meal they were working so they could eat beforehand. For obvious reasons, I opted to skip breakfast and show up at the start of the meal. While I was in the shower (about 10 minutes before the meal was supposed to begin), the phone started ringing off the hook. Over and over. Of course, I couldn't do anything about it because I was in the shower. When I got out, I was pissed because I knew it was this cruddy little high school student who had been made a "waiter captain" and put in charge of weekend breakfasts. So when the phone started ringing yet again, I picked it up and barked out "Hello?" in my meanest-sounding voice

"Hi, this is..."

"I know who it is," I said. "And I know why you're calling."

"Oh, well..."

"Look, there's something we need to get straightened out here," I continued. "Think of my phone like the Bat Phone. Only Commissioner Gordan is allowed to call the Bat Phone. Are YOU Commissioner Gordon?"

"Wh...wha..."

"ARE YOU?"

"No," he squeaked.

"Then do NOT call the Bat Phone. Got it?"

"Yes."

"Good." Then I hung up.

The best part is, even though I was never a Batman fan, I had an old Batman t-shirt (plain black with the Bat symbol on the front), and I wore it into work under my food service polo. When I passed the poor kid on my way into the cafeteria, I dramatically opened the polo to reveal the Batman shirt. "Remember," I said, "You are NOT Commission Gordan."

Dorky as all hell? Yup. But I still love that story.

Greg -- In his own words

Okay, before I continue on, let me clear a couple of Mr. Bawful’s misconceptions here.

1. Contrary to what he believes, people from Kokomo don’t just go to Meijer and Wal-Mart, or sit around singing country songs and talking about Carhartts all weekend. I happen to enjoy the convenience of small town living, coupled with its good location and ease of going to Indy or Ft. Wayne if need be. I actually enjoy living here, and am grateful to have found good paying career (that interestingly enough doesn’t involve either of Auto Manufacturers who have factories here)

2. Anybody who thinks that Kokomo smells bad has never spent much time in New York City in July or August. THAT is an olfactory abomination that takes three trips through the wash to get rid of.

3. I don’t recall greeting Bawful as a “conquering hero” upon his return from college. If nothing else, the rest of us were secretly hoping that four months away would have quelled the Aimee-drama. (Editor's note: Aimee-drama?! This from the same guy who ditched a major "leaving for the army immediately after high school graduation" party I threw for one of his best high school buds because he was "all fucked up" about a goth chick named Becky who I'm not sure ever actually talked to him after high school? As always, I'm not sayin'...I'm just sayin'.)

Opinions? Yes, I certainly had opinions about the whole un-sordid, and decidedly G-Rated Bawful, Aimee, Cindy triangle. However, it honestly wasn’t until reading all of this that I now know exactly WHAT was going on. All the rest of us knew was that Bawful was frequently absent from hanging out because he had to go do “something” with “somebody”. In fact, saying “I’ve got…umm…something…I have to go do” became a well-played and frequently used punch-line for the rest of us, unbeknownst to Bawful. (Editor's note: Actually, I knew that because during our senior year in high school, Greg usually greeted me by saying, and I quote, "Where were ya, man? Oh, wait, let me guess, you were off doing 'something' with 'someone,' right?")

Not having the money to go away to school, I had decided to stay in town and go to the local campus of I.U. to get a degree in History (don’t ask me what I was going to do with it…I had no idea). My third semester there, I had to take a computer class. At that point, I knew nothing of computers. However, I managed at ace the class with very minimal effort on my part. The instructor of the class told me that maybe I should look into that as a possible career choice, so I transferred to IVY Tech which had a more robust Computer Programming schedule than I.U. was able to offer, and due to my addiction to old cars, I still didn’t have the money to go away to school (awwwww, no “conquering hero” return for me (snicker)).

So I completed my A.A.S. through IVY Tech in 1999, and within a few months was offered a position with a Global Leader In Information Technology via a former instructor of mine who also worked there. Now, as much as I do enjoy Kokomo, (I wasn’t born here, so maybe that’s why I don’t view this town with the same jaded eyes as Bawful), I had sent résumés all over the state, even as far away as Arizona hoping to get a career going. It was just dumb luck that I landed a job here in Kokomo. (Editor's note: Statbuster and I refer to Kokomo as "Gilligan's Island" for a reason...because nobody every escapes the island. Except me. And him. Look, it's funny, trust me.)

Oh, there are plenty of stories built up for the last 15 on my end. But this is Bawful’s blog, so we’ll keep the focus on his embarrassment. Seriously, Bawful, when a half-naked girl offers you a beer while sitting on your lap…You Say YES!!!!!!!

Gauvin

After we graduated high school, Gauvin began an epic journey aimless wandering. He worked at McDonald's. He worked at Walmart. He became an electrician's apprentice. He joined the army and was discharged after about a year and a half of service. He worked at a coffee shop. He worked at a bar. He taught himself ot play the guitar, the harmonica, and the Irish pan flute. He learned Japanese. He eventually started going to college in Indianapolis, where his majors vascillated from mathematics to art to philosophy. He eventually graduated with a degree in Philosophy and quickly found out...you can't really get a job with a degree in Philosophy. He futzed around for a few years living the life of a bohemian poet (his words, not mine) and then went back to school for nursing. He graduated in June of 2008 and finally became a contributing member of society. It only took him 15 years to do it.

His biggest impact on the rest of my college career was more about what he didn't do. For most of my first semester, Gauvin insisted that he was planning to join me at my college the next Fall and that we would be roommates. He wasn't really doing anything to back that up, but I accepted it because he was my friend...and because I was 18 years old and an idiot.

My dorm required returning students to turn in their housing request forms for the next year about midway through the Spring semester. I kept bugging Gauvin about it -- I needed him to fill out my roommate form -- and he kept putting me off. The forms were due on a Monday, so I made a trip to Kokomo the weekend before so I could get Gauvin's forms. That's when he told me that he wasn't going to college that fall. He was joining the army instead. Gauvin told me this on Sunday afternoon. That left me with a day to find a roommate for sophomore year.

Nathan

Nathan enjoyed having a single room that second semester, so much so that he signed up for a single room over at the Quad for his fourth and final year. That fact bummed me out, because I asked him to be my roommate when Gauvin bailed on me. And by "asked" I mean "practically begged." The last thing I wanted was to end up with another Mat. Despite my constant harping, Nathan stuck to his guns and refused to room with me. That led to two things: 1) me rooming with BadDave and 2) Nathan's unhappy exile.

See, having a single in a hallway full of friends and people he knew was much more fun than being the only senior in a hallway full of obnoxious freshmen. (The Quad at that time was, pretty much exclusively, a teenage sausage fest.) Nathan could hardly stand it. His solution? He practically moved in with me and BadDave. Sure, he slept in his room at the Quad...but he spent the rest of his free time sitting on a beanbag in our room. Hell, he spent more time there than I did.

Of course, it worked out pretty well for me. My car broke down that year, which meant I had no way to visit Aimee. Enter Nathan. He had a car and nowhere to go. As long as I kept his gas tank filled, I got to use his car almost every weekend. Meanwhile, he semi-lived in my room and got constant access to my brand new computer. Win-win.

There are plenty of funny Nathan stories from that year, like the time he (thanks to BadDave's shenanigans) accidentally shot me in the ass with a potato gun. But my favorite story is one of revenge. Nathan decided to prank me one night, so he programmed my computer to boot up in the middle of the night and play the Star Wars Cantina song at full blast. Ha. Ha. Ha.

I didn't respond immediately. Remember: Revenge really is a dish best served cold. A few weeks later, when Nathan was hosting a roleplaying night in a lounge at the Quad, I asked to borrow his room key so I could use his phone to call Aimee...a totally plausible story. But what I did instead was hijack all of his socks and underwear. Half of them of crammed in his refrigerator, and the other half I tacked to bulletin boards across the Quad. Nathan didn't realize anything was amiss until the next morning...

To his credit, he realized his mistake as soon as he opened his underwear drawer. Amusingly enough, he checked the fridge immediately. I did not intend this, but in stuffing his undies and socks in there, I had inadvertently spilled his milk and orange juice. So not only were his items soiled, there was a huge puddle of sticky gunk under his fridge. Poor Nathan had to spend the next hour or so cleaning up that mess and tracking down the rest of his jockeys.

Nathan graduated and then went to Sweden to attend a Bible school. He didn't really need to learn anything more about the Bible, of course. He went to find a wife. Which he did. But not before this story happened...which I blogged about years ago:

Here's a true story. When I was in college, a buddy of mine went to Sweden to attend Bible school. While he was there, he and several of the other students went down to the town square and sung hymns. Some of the local tough guys didn't like that, and so they started heckling the group, which was comprised mostly of women and the kind of men who go to Bible school -- interpret that however you want. Anyway, my friend confronted them, and, despite the Swedish history of wartime neutrality, one of the tough guys bitch-slapped my friend. But being a God-fearing man well-versed in scripture, he remembered Jesus' advice and turned the other cheek...only to have that one bitch-slapped as well. He turned his cheek again, and he got slapped again. This went on for several minutes, until my friend collapsed into unconsciousness. Afterward, he called me from Sweden -- which, at that time, was something like $153 per minute -- to proudly tell me about getting his ass kicked in front of his friends, just like Jesus would have done! This story always cheers me up.

That's one of my favorite stories ever. Anyway, Nathan spent the next several years teaching at a Christian college and spawning offspring. He's now writing for Christian television projects.

BadDave -- My side of the story

Looking ahead to my sophomore year, I knew one thing with dread and absolute certainty: I did NOT want another Mat situation. Therefore I needed to find a roommate up front. Originally, that roommate was supposed to be Gauvin. However, the day before housing contracts were due during the Spring semester, Gauvin told me he wasn't going to school the next year. He was joining the army.

I was screwed.

I spent the next day asking every guy I knew to room with me, but everybody already had their plans locked up. My only hope was that Nathan would give up on trying for a single room. I was in his room practically begging when Dave walked in.

"Dave, do you have a roommate for next year?" I asked.

"No," he said.

"Be my roommate?"

"Sure," he said.

And that's how BadDave became my best friend. That's how it started, anyway. The friendship is too epic for me to summarize here. But here's his take:

BadDave -- His side of the story story

So Bawful will tell you in the epilogue that he asked me to room, but in my roommate revisionist version *I* asked him. But whatever. The fates aligned, and the long-haired, ex-band slacker and the straight-a, straight arrow goodie became roomies. And at first, it was awkward. My first roommate was The Garrison, and my second was a friend from home.

He was (and is) a great guy, but we were NOT meant to be roommates. So I was really wanting this to work, but expecting it to fail. Hell, Bawful had a single second semester; of course I was going to be worse than that.

However, we both played it cool and stayed nicey-nice, and four things happened to solidify our status from roommate to full-fledged bromance.

1. Intramurals. Bawful and I are pretty devoted team players; we pass the ball, play defense, and basically are fine sharing glory. Our teammates, however, didn't. We had our share of complete non-athletes, but we had a few guys that thought they were the cat's ass. Our most loathed teammates were Joe and Dean. Joe was fairly athletic, but played basketball like Larry Hughes. He never saw a shot he didn't like, and he didn't even let the ground touch the ball. Dean was huge -- 6'7". He played like he as 5'11". A total wimp down low, lazy rebounder, and he took bullshit shots from the outside. Bawful and I found kinship in their douchbaggery. Also, I never did any basketball when we met. As we roomed, I played a lot more, and got pretty good. I was one of the best defenders around, but I had and still have a block outside of 18 feet. It must be mental, but anyways, I appreciated Bawful's efforts into turning me from a human slug to a human slug that occasionally moved around.

2. Nathan. We've talked about him, but in short he was a good friend with lots of quirks that sometimes sent us running.

3. NBA in the 90s. It was a golden age. The Pacers were good. Rivalries were strong. There was post play. And most significantly, TBS and TNT had games, sometimes double headers, Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays! Add on network games on Sundays (and Saturdays after NFL season) and we were in heaven. Lots of nachos and salsa from our hall's convenience store were had. Then we'd follow those up with NBA Live '98.

4. Truth-or-dare night (how middle-school, eh?) and Cindy the Woman. In short, we both had an interesting night with some people, and it's an experience that definitely broke the ice.

If this sounds like a love story, well, it is. I can own that. We roomed together for two years, and we've agreed that they are probably the best years of our lives. Ever day was just freaking fun. Ahhh, college. Over those two years, I taught Matt that the honor's program wasn't worth the effort and that a B was OK. He taught me that I did need to go to class, and graduating under a 2.0 GPA is not good for anything. We were both involved in the hall, largely because Brett was pretty cool and we had good times there. So, after those two years we each went on to be RAs, but in different halls. We both had a great experience, but it put a huge dent in our time together; being on duty 4 nights per week each meant that the bromance was certainly limited.

Right after college, I got married. I know Bawful still hasn't forgiven me, and sometimes I agree. I love the fam and all, but it's reasonable to regret what kind of shenanigans we could have had as heterosexual life partners. Oh well. My wife went to grad school and I made money in the wonderful world of retail management. And we got our first puppy.

By wonderful I mean hellacious. And by retail management I mean car rental. Are you feeling it Evil? Is that a YES?! Long story short, I did what every first graduate does -- I busted my ass for over 70 hours a week for the potential to make a better position, got some promotions only to realize later that my job sucked, screwed people, and didn't pay enough for my work. My wife graduated, and then I worked in logistics for an auto manufacturer. Interesting job, but totally Lumberesque in monotony and Chotchky's in pay.

I finally got a job doing the last think I liked -- in student affairs.

Basically, I now manage RAs and life in residence halls. Working for colleges is much better than the real world, even if students and parents are ridiculous. It's fun, different every day, and occasionally challenging. My wife and I spawned twice; we have an eight-year-old boy and a 6-month old daughter. To further my career, I am now in Scranton, PA (sorry, no Dwight Schrute here). My puppy just died of liver cancer, and that's officially brought life down for a while. She was the best dog ever, and if you're wondering why I'm mentioning it here, you don't live with a dog.

Editor's note: I have a couple things to add to this. First, Truth or Dare story has become roommate legend. It led to me (at that time still a virgin) getting stripped Dirty Dancing style by two girls and to BadDave totally swiping the girl Nathan was after. The game was so epic that it ended one night and continued the next. I was absent (on a date with Cindy the Woman) the second night, but BadDave to this day insists he received a four-hour French lesson from Nathan's would-be girlfriend. I'll let him field questions about that one...but if prompted I might (stress on "might") give details on the first night in the comments.

Anyway, BadDave forgot to mention one key moment in our bromance. It happened near the end of our first year living together. We had gotten closer, but we still hadn't really bonded. Then we both came down with a crippling case of the flu. I have never gotten the flu that badly. We were bed-ridden for almost three days. We literally spent those three days across from each other, stewing in our own foul gasses. On the third day, we had an interview for a summer job at the on campus apartments. We almost literally crawled to the interview together. The apartment manager consented to interview us together. He asked us all sorts of questions, which I can only assume we answered despite our delirium. Anyway, at the end of the interview, the apartment manager said, and I quote, "Well, boys, I like you. I really do. And I'd love to give you a job. I really would. But the problem is, we've already filled all the summer jobs, so I just don't have any openings for you. I'm really sorry."

Dave and I were stunned, but we got up and shook his hand.

"Okay then," the apartment manager said as we were walking out, "I'll see you boys on [whatever the starting date was supposed to be]." Then he closed his office door.

"Wait," Dave said. "I thought he said he didn't have any jobs left."

"He did," I confirmed.

"So why does he want us to show up on the first day of work?" Dave asked.

"Dunno," I replied. "I guess we'll just show up and see what happens."

Which is exactly what we did. Turns out he had hired us, although I'm not sure he realized that. For some reason, those three days of flu-ridden horror combined with the bizarre job interview caused a subtle shift in our friendship. We've pretty much been best friends ever since.

Brett -- In his own words

What the hell I've doing since graduating [college name deleted] in '96?

Its hard to believe that its been over 12 years since I left [college name deleted] (for the first time). I graduated in 1996 without a job -- and frankly I was scared. I had what seemed like big money in debt hanging over my head post graduation. I had an opportunity to live in Japan from a professor in Asian Studies whom I'd befriended but the pragmatic path of economics called me more convincingly than the path than adventure. I worked for my Uncle remodeling houses for a few months while I cold-called companies for job opportunities until I got an offer from Intel Corporation in Phoenix, AZ.

(Editor's note: I had no idea how bad Brett's financial situation was...but I should have. One night we met up in Indianapolis for beers. He pulled out a couple $20 cigars that he said he'd been saving for a night out with friends. Neither of us had a cigar cutter, so he told me to just bite off the tip. I'd never done that before, and I ended up mangling a cigar that had been purchased with the last excess cash Brett had to his name. He was so pissed he swiped the cigar out of my hand and threw it in the street with a growl. I guess you'd have to know Brett to understand how out of character that was for him...I really thought he was going to hit me. Makes sense. I'd just flushed away $20 he could have used to, I don't know, eat or something.)

With Intel, I ran a production line pumping out computer chips for about three years until I got the Jones for school again. Chad [last name deleted], at [dorm name deleted] offered me my Counselor job back -- so I headed to [college name deleted]'s MBA program. After two years of torture, [college name delete] gave me my masters and I landed a job with Arthur Andersen Consulting, in Chicago. For context, this was post tech-bubble and post-9/11; the job market was not good. Arthur Andersen put off my start date for 3 months so I spent a month in Boulder, Colorado riding the Rocky Mountains and 2 months as a bike messenger in Chicago.

(Editor's note: Brett made one mistake here: 9/11 happened after he got that job. He was working downtown on 9/11. We were two of the only people in the Chicago metro area that didn't flee like rats escaping a sinking ship after the terrorist attacks. We met for lunch that day and wandered the deserted streets. It was like something out of a post-apocalyptic zombie movie. Nobody was around, nothing was open. We eventually found a waitress who was closing a diner. She fried us a couple hamburgers and then split. Then it felt like we were the last two people alive. It was weird.)

I started with AA and spent a year helping clients around the Midwest until the Enron scandal. For those that did not follow the scandal. it put both Enron and Arthur Andersen (its auditor) out of business.

(I was freakin' thrilled when Brett moved to Chicago, and it killed me when he had to leave. We had some good times. Kickin' back shots while listening to the doors, riding our bikes around Chicago, drinking beer every day after work at the Berghoff. That fucking Enron scandal didn't only help blow the economy to hell, it effectively robbed me of one of my closest friends. I've only seen Brett a couple times since then.)

Subsequently, I was on the job market again. I landed a job, through some college connections, with United Technologies. I spent four year working with UT helping them improve HR processes out of Harford, CT. I was lucky to working Mexico, Norway, and Singapore during that time. In the end, I missed the lifestyle of consulting. I left UT and started consulting again with IBM. Its been almost five years with IBM where I've focused primarily on ERP implementation (mostly SAP). I've been fortunate to live and work in a few different countries and have totally loved every second. My time at [college name deleted] was always a "baseline"; time I spent thinking about what I really wanted to do. I am lucky that most the answers I uncovered in [city name deleted] served me well.

Nancy

After the Olive Garden date/not-a-date mishap, Nancy and I walked a pretty wide path around each other. Then, one day during the second semester, she called me out of the blue and asked me over to her dorm for lunch. I wasn't doing anything, so I agreed. We shared tasteless pasta and awkward conversation, and then I left. I never found out what compelled her to invite me to lunch.

I don't remember seeing her again until the Fall Semester of my third year. I was at an APO party with my buddy James. He and I were drinking hard and scoping for girls. At some point, I ended up dirty dancing and then making out with this girl, Kristin, whom I'd been eyeballing for a while. Kristin asked if I wanted to go somewhere, and we all know what that's code for, so naturally I said yes. But of course she needed to go talk to her friends first. While she was gabbing with her girls, James came over to slap a few high fives. Then he looked over at the little group and said, "Hey, Matt, that one chick's looking at you funny."

It was Nancy. And she was looking at me funny...and saying something to Kristin, who was suddenly looking not quite as excited as she had a minute ago.

I didn't want the drama, so I told James we should split, which we did. I never saw Nancy again. Nor did I ever hook up with Kristin.

Latrisse

A few weeks into the second semester of my freshman year, I called Aimee's room for our standard end-of-the-night conversation. However, Aimee was out, so I ended up talking to her roommate Latrisse instead. Latrisse "let it slip" that Aimee had recently made plans to attend a school dance (her school, not mine) with some guy who wasn't me. Naturally, I freaked out and said a few things that freaked-out people are likely to say. You know, regrettable things that sound really bad when repeated even though you didn't really mean them. You know? Shockingly enough, Latrisse then let those things slip to Aimee. These accidental-on-purpose slippages led to an ugly phone conversation between me and Aimee that ended with our first of many breakups. And thus I learned what can happen when you get too friendly with your girlfriend's roommate...who happens to have pretty obvious (to everybody else) crush on you.

I saw Latrisse only one time after that, and I admit that I kinda wanted to punch her in the baby-maker. (Sadly, I did not.) Later that year, she apparently met some guy from New Mexico in an Internet chat room. They were a couple in less than a week, sight unseen. Mind you, this was back when 80 percent of the people you met online were either serial killers trolling for victims or cannibals who ate serial killers they met on the Internet. A month-ish after they started dating, he visited her in Indianapolis. After the school year ended, she left Butler (which was a big deal, because she had a pretty sweet scholarship) and moved to New Mexico to be with her new man. The last bit of news I heard (through Aimee) was that they planned to wed. I don’t know whether they ever did.

Epilogue: Part 2

Labels: college stories, Livin' Large