It all started with a few bottles of soju, some peaches, and yalkut. In hindsight, it sounds like a mellow start. A friend had recently accomplished something that we wanted to celebrate. So, Spaghetti (all names of this tale will be conveyed through kinds of pasta) decided we should make cocktails from a recipe she found on TikTok. The drinks were great – cold and achingly sweet, the taste lingering behind your molars. There were even chunks of peach in it. Unfortunately, Spaghetti had failed to consider whether anyone was lactose intolerant – which Papparadelle was.
As a group, we’d already spent the night out at Powell’s and had started to wind down. However, it was only 9 o’clock, and that was no time to be getting ready for bed. So, to pick the mood up, I went to my room and grabbed my two cases of Mike’s Harder Lemonade. Please note that this was not regular Mike’s Hard Lemonade but contained 8% alcohol rather than 5%. Crucial mistake. Forgetting this information, I decided it was time to set a new record for how many cans I could consume in one night. By 10:30, I was six or seven cans deep. The night was going swimmingly – the LED lights of our common room were on, and I was sitting next to Tagliatelle and Ziti and telling them how much I loved them.
And, then, I get a call from Gnocchi. He was outside my dorm! I was so excited to see him, aided by, to put it lightly, the fact that I was off my rocker. I don’t think I’ve ever run so fast in my life. I threw myself down the hall and leaped down the stairs to see him – I theorize knocking myself around so much during this weakened my skeleton. Our reunion parallels that of The Notebook; so intense is my excitement to see him. All was right in the world, peace had been restored. The two of us returned to the common room. Gnocchi had come from an event where he had gotten a new collection of Magic, The Gathering cards. He was sitting on the floor, opening up the packets of cards and yelping with delight. I was watching over his shoulder, and, despite this man’s sobriety, he was full-on rolling around on the floor with joy. It was like Christmas morning. If you ignore the fact it was past 10 P.M. and the majority of us were incredibly fucked up.
It eventually hits 11:00 p.m., and we decide to go to Emo Ball, the night’s main event. However, we split up because Gnocchi and Ziti wanted to smoke. Figuring I’d go with them, we head back to Gnocchi’s room while everyone else heads to the ball. None of us are thinking clearly, despite Gnocchi’s sobriety. So, when he lights a joint in his room, Ziti goes, “What about the fire alarm?” It’s the scariest moment of my life – and we race through the building as if the whole place is aflame. We walk for a bit until we’re outside Woodbridge. Jokingly, I start calling out for a friend who lives in Woodbridge. I’m not expecting a response, obviously. But, then! through the dark and mist, a disembodied voice rings out – “MACCARONI?”
“FUSILLI!” I shout. We continue yelling one another’s names back and forth, and I sprint through the night and toward the woods as fast as my legs can carry me. As I began to run down the hill, only 10ft away from Fussili, I am suddenly air-born – no longer a boy confined to the constraints of gravity. Well, not for long, anyway.
When I land, I land hard. The wind is knocked out of me. I roll over and decide to stay down to catch my breath. But when Ziti tells me to get up, I find I can’t. My arm starts to ache. Thus, a CSO is called.
This is where I, the writer and not the narrator – hello! – would describe the following scene as the comedic performance of a lifetime. When the rest of us get to Woodbridge, Macaroni is lying in the grass with Spaghetti’s phone in front of his face, watching a Subway Surfers video to distract him (and keep him from yelling out that he wants morphine, which he repeatedly did through the night). At this point, we’re pretty sure Macaroni’s arm is dislocated. The CSO who came to the rescue tries to pick him up by his good arm. But, in the mud, the CSO slips and lands flat on his ass. So, the ambulance is called.
The wait is not long, but we are all delirious from our previous adventures in the common room. So, we:
- Take a photo with Macaroni lying on the ground.
- I tell him how exciting this is because he will be in the CSO blotter, to which he yells, “FUCK YEAH, I’M GONNA BE IN THE QUEST.”
- Macaroni asks the CSO if he has a daughter. When the CSO says yes, he asks if she’s single. The CSO responds no, but that he “has a lot of toys” at home. That immediately ends this discussion.
- Macaroni asks who from our initial group has made it to Woodbridge and then summons us individually to his “bedside.”
- Macaroni calls Pappardelle to him and makes Pappardelle hold his good hand and get to his knees. In the video clip, Pappardelle responds to incoherent grumbling with: “Macaroni, if you want me to keep holding your hand, we’re gonna need to set a few ground rules here. When I’m holding your hand, you’re not gonna say anything along the lines of ‘Man, this makes me really horny,’ okay? That’s the base rule I’m gonna set for you, all right?” Macaroni responds, “The one rule? DAMMIT.”
The ambulance showed up soon after, and Macaroni was put into a stretcher and then carried off. He had wholly snapped the bone in his bicep in two. But, the happy ending here is that a) Macaroni got the morphine he wanted, and b) he was in the Quest. His surgery was on the 12th of April, and went well.