Fourteen Beers at Chili's

Page 1

Libraries are supposed to be quiet, but the endless tapping of keys and rustling of papers is pure cacophony. That's a big word. Your English professor would be proud of you.

Are you even taking English this semester? Your brain is too fried to remember.

It's finals week, so you shouldn't be surprised that the library is packed fuller than a clown car. That makes you one of the clowns. All you are missing are the big shoes and a red nose.As per usual, you waited until the last minute to crack open your textbooks. For most of the semester, they sat on your desk collecting dust like expensive paperweights. In past semesters you managed to drag yourself over the finish line with passing grades, but you aren't sure you'll be so lucky this time. It's Junior year, and the classes are only getting harder.

A bead of sweat rolls down your neck. Who knew how hard things would get when you finally declared your major? These gen ed classes are hard enough as it is. Then again, you'd better get on that major thing or you'll never graduate.

The words on the page in front of you blur together, forming an incomprehensible mass. It might as well be written in Latin. You're not sure what subject you're studying for anymore; maybe it is Latin after all. Do people even take Latin? You need a change of pace and fast. Any more of this and you'll snap.

As you cram your books back into your bag, your stomach lets out a mighty roar. Every student in the vicinity whips around to glare at you, and a few rudely shush you. Everyone else is as fucked as you are when it comes to their own finals. At least there won't be any curve breakers. Nobody likes a curve breaker. You're all rats on the sinking Titanic, and Jack and Rose got the good raft. Well, only Rose. Selfish bitch.

You sling your backpack over your shoulder and make a hasty retreat. The dining hall closed several hours ago, but the campus diner is definitely still open. Your stomach recoils at the thought. Eating there is a one-way ticket to the hospital for food poisoning. They never change out the fryer oil, so everything tastes like stale sludge. You can't take your finals if you're violently expelling bodily fluids from both ends, though. The thought of eating there is a tempting one.

You shake your head. No. Getting sick would only delay the inevitable. It's not like you would have used any of that extra time to study anyway. Besides, you're craving a beer like SpongeBob craved water in that one scene at Sandy's house. You're sure that a drink or two might help you recover some of your dwindling motivation. You remember hearing about something called the Ballmer peak, where the exact right amount of alcohol increases productivity. That was enough for you to justify your clearly terrible decision to abandon the library.

The cold bite of the evening air causes you to pull your hoodie tighter around yourself. It's unusually cold for spring, and for a brief moment you wonder if global warming is even real. Come to think of it, you were probably supposed to be learning about that in your environmental studies class.

Wow, you're really fucked for those finals.

"Dude! Come hang with us, man!" A voice calls to you. It's your roommate, Derek, with his horde of frat bros. They look so similar it takes you a moment to figure out which one is Derek. Despite the cold, they're all dressed in similar outfits of short-sleeved button ups, pastel shorts, and boat shoes. You're not really sure why, but you never really trusted people who wore shoes without socks. Looking at them makes you feel cold, and a shiver goes up your spine.

Hanging out with frat bros isn't exactly your favorite pastime. It could be fun to join in on whatever hijinks they were about to get up to, though.

You cross the street to meet Derek. He greets you with a fist bump, seemingly completely oblivious to the fact that it's finals week. The bros whoop triumphantly as you join them, patting your back as they welcome you into the group. Despite being the only one not in a frat, you feel weirdly comfortable amongst the bros. Maybe you misjudged Greek life... or you're so desperate not to study that you're willing to hang out with just about anyone.

"You were actually at the library? That's fucking lame, bro." The look of disdain on Derek's face doesn't last long before he breaks out into a grin. "Just kidding, bro. I'd probably be in there too if one of the pledges wasn't taking my finals for me."

So he did know it was finals week. Derek is smarter than you give him credit for, but only a little. "How do you know the pledges are going to pass?" you ask skeptically.

 "If they fail, we bring them down to the basement and beat them with the failure stick," Derek answers, as if it were obvious. The bros nod in confirmation. 

 You try not to think too hard about the failure stick as the group sets off down the street. While you aren't exactly sure where they are going, you are positive it's better than the library. Unless they're going to the basement to beat some pledges. You regret your previous thought that you may have misjudged Greek life.

"Where are you guys headed?" you ask.

"Me and the bros don't plan too far ahead. We're going wherever the wind blows us tonight." Derek gives a sage nod, and yet again, the bros nod in confirmation.

Do frat boys exist as some sort of hive mind?

That is as much of a reasonable answer as you were going to get from Derek. As you join the sea of frat boys, you pray that the wind will blow you to an establishment that served beer. Your backpack is weighing you down, but you're sure if you asked to bring it back to your dorm, you'd be left behind. None of them had backpacks. Shifting the weight to your other shoulder, you decide to deal with it for now. If it gets too heavy, you can stash your bag in some bushes. Nobody in their right mind would steal textbooks. Despite their exorbitant cost, they had basically no resale value.

Your vision goes black as a flyer smacks you directly in the face. Pulling it away, you see it's a coupon insert that usually shows up as junk mail. You're ready to discard it until you see the amazing deals printed across it. Being on a student budget means you can't exactly be picky. You do your best to keep pace with the pack as your eyes scan across the insert. On the left page is a flashy advertisement for dollar beers at Chili's, and on the right page is a significantly less appealing ad for whatever microwaved shit Applebee's intends on serving. You make your choice almost instantly.

Do you...

SUGGEST CHILI'S (GO TO PAGE 2)

GET YOUR ASS KICKED FOR SUGGESTING APPLEBEE'S (GO TO PAGE 3)

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