The clock strikes midnight. I’m sitting studiously in my room, reading Noam Cholmsky’s A Review of B. F. Skinner’s Verbal Behavior. Suddenly, a raucous cheering outside breaks my concentration. I open the door from my room to our suite’s patio, half-expecting to see bro tanks and short skirts heading to Pub. But wait, it’s Tuesday. Pub is on Wednesday. That can’t be right.
Instead, I find a group of people laughing and chanting, “FOUNTAIN! FOUNTAIN!” Ahhhh. That makes more sense. It’s just past midnight, so I’m betting September 19th is some first-year’s birthday. Well, happy birthday! I hope your fountaining treated you well.
Some of my fellow bloggers have written about their own fountainings this year, and tonight just took me back to memories of fountaining several of my spilblings. I feel guilt over one in particular.
It was the night before we had final presentations in our Freshman Critical Inquiry Seminar class, “Philosophy Through Science Fiction.” My friend Claire and I had been timing ourselves, pacing outside, and rehearsing. She was in her room, and it was about to turn midnight, and thus her birthday. She was well aware of this, and did not want to be fountained, so blocked the door and refused to open it much (if at all) for anyone who came knocking. But then I, in my innocentest manner, knocked, and said I was coming to commiserate over our stressful presentations in the morning. All I wanted was a hug. So then Claire opened the door wider for me. This was the moment when my sponsor and spiblings charged around the corner and attacked her, scooping her up and carrying her to the fountain. Claire put up a good, violent fight, kicking and screaming, but never quite breaking free. She exacted revenge on all of us with soaking wet hugs, which, in all fairness, we deserved. I just hope she doesn’t mistrust me forever…