Let's face it: Hooking up has become a staple of the college culture around the nation and here at Tufts. And, over the past three years, I feel I have become an expert in awkward hook-ups.
I was actually thinking about making it my major, but there is way too much red tape at Dowling to transfer all my credits over. Here's a short list of my credentials in awkwardly hooking up just from the past three years.
During college, I dated a girl who would give me a running commentary every time we hooked up. She would sarcastically narrate every move I made. "Going over there, huh? Tryin' to master the one-hand bra unhook?"
It was like hooking up with John Madden with breasts. Well, female breasts. And, really, if you're going to get a play-by-play while you're hooking up, I think your partner should at least have the common courtesy to include an instant replay and slow-motion feature every now and then, just to spice things up a little bit.
My sophomore year, I went back home for my sister's bat mitzvah, and I met up with my high school girlfriend who happened to be home that weekend. We drove to the park in her car late at night. One thing led to another, and we started to fool around in the backseat. Then, we saw these strange flashing lights coming through the window.
When we realized it was a cop, she jumped up front while I stayed in the back. The officer shined a flashlight into the vehicle and asked for her license and registration. I thought I might try to ease the tension, so I said through the window, "Sorry officer, it's just that we're home from college." As if I expected his response to be, "Oh, sorry to bother you crazy kids. Have a good night!"
My friends don't seem fazed by hooking up with girls who have boyfriends, but I'll be honest: For me, it's - not surprisingly - a little awkward. I once hooked up with a girl who had been in a relationship for a few weeks, and her boyfriend used to call while we hung out.
She would literally pick up the phone and start whispering, "Hey, I can't talk. I'm in the library. No, I'm studying for this huge exam." I had to break things off pretty fast, and it wasn't even because I felt guilty or bad for this guy on the other end of the phone - I just thought she was really neglecting her studies. If my room was the library, her academic future was definitely in jeopardy.
While studying in Spain, I met up with some friends in Seville one weekend. I happened to meet a cute American girl on the same program as one of my buddies. My last night in Seville, we started dancing at a club. Because I'm an awful dancer, I was staring at my feet trying to make sure I wasn't completely embarrassing myself. When I abruptly looked up, we bumped heads.
I decided to buy her a drink, and I sat down on what I thought was some sort of table. It was also the place where everyone dropped their empty beer bottles once they were through with them. And so, as I reached out to this girl to reel her in for a kiss, my arm skimmed a bottle, and it shattered into pieces on the floor. A little intoxicated, it took me a minute or so to realize that her toe was gushing blood.
Thinking I was going to have to take this girl to a hospital in a city where I barely spoke the language, let alone knew the streets, I started to panic. Luckily, some bouncer brought us into a back room and patched her up with bandages. And I went back to the place I was staying and totally bumped my head on a countertop back in the apartment.
While I was abroad, I also tried my hand at flirting with Spanish women. It proved to be a difficult and ultimately failed endeavor. I distinctly remember one night, when I was feeling very confident, I strutted over to a group of three attractive Spanish girls, and before I could say "Qué tal?" the leader of the group was shaking her head and wagging her index finger: "No. No. No."
That night, I learned why the word, "no" means the same thing in so many different languages: so that women around the world are able to reject sketchy guys of every nationality at bars. But I like to think that, if those women could speak English, they might have rejected me in a bit more of a personal manner, probably by saying, "Man, you're awkward."
Neil Padover is a senior majoring in English. He can be reached neilpadover@gmail.com.
