The Wood, Sheila,
the Beer and the Test
by Don Drewniak
During my
college freshman year decades ago, I developed a
lasting friendship with two classmates, Charlie
and Will. They were physical opposites. Charlie
was slightly over six feet, blessed with good
looks and athletic. He played for the school’s
golfing team all four years and made the junior
varsity basketball team as a freshman.
Will was quite
the opposite. He was not blessed with the
greatest of looks, was at least thirty pounds
overweight, had zero athletic ability and smoked
a minimum of one package of cigarettes per day.
Both lived at home, owned automobiles and
commuted to the campus.
We frequented
“The Wood “ (The Hollywood) once or
twice a week for a beer or two. It was a bar/restaurant
located about a mile from the campus. There was
never a problem getting served despite our being
nineteen, two years under the legal drinking age.
I suspect that
an unknown ancient god of screwing humans
arranged to have the three of us in the same
Geography 101 class during the first semester of
our sophomore year.
In all
probability, Will carried over to college a habit
he had developed in high school. If the class was
boring (or if he thought it was), he would place
his right elbow on the flat surface of an
armchair desk and grip his forehead between his
thumb and four closed fingers. Holding a pen or
pencil in his left hand, he placed the tip on an
open notebook page. He always managed to sit near
the outside and rear of classrooms. This most
often shielded him from whoever was conducting
classes.
It was either
the second or third week of Geography 101 when a
loud thump echoed through the room. Will’s
head slipped from the grip of his hand and as a
result he head-butted an unforgiving desktop.
Laughter from those sitting near him, quizzical
looks from the rest of us. The professor, to his
credit, asked Will if he was okay. Will nodded
and the lecture continued.
Our first test
was scheduled for a Wedmesday at one o’clock
during the fourth week of school. Near the end of
the day before the test, Will flagged Charlie and
me down and suggested we meet at The Wood at ten
the next day to have breakfast and compare notes.
“Let me
see your notes,” said Charlie.
“Well, um,
I left them at home.”
“In plain
English, they are worthless,” I added.
“Okay,
okay, I need help.”
Unfortunately,
Charlie and I agreed.
It just so
happened that ten was the time bars were allowed
to begin serving liquor. Will was the first to
place an order (with our favorite waitress, the
rather well-endowed and pretty Sheila). After
requesting bacon, eggs and toast, Will added,
“And, oh, three coffees and three bottles of
Bud.”
“Hey,
Will, we have notes to go over,” interjected
Charlie.
“My treat,
guys, and the beer and coffee will help us think
better.”
“He’s
right, guys,” said Sheila as she moved from
me to Charlie to Will gently squeezing each of
our necks and brushing her lips over our right
ears.
And so it was
that Will’s order went through. I am rather
fuzzy as to how it happened, but three additional
rounds of beer somehow materialized before we
left The Wood. According to Charlie, when we
discussed what happened the following day, Sheila
brought the last three rounds without their being
ordered by us.
Will was flat-out
drunk as we left ten minutes before one. We all
climbed into my car. Two traffic lights slowed us
down. It was one even as I pulled into the
parking lot. Charlie had to help Will out of the
car and guide him step-by-step to the classroom.
We were ten minutes late by the time I opened the
classroom door.
Now in the
roles of Larry, Curly and Moe, we did not realize
that the three of us smelled like an old brewery
a week or two after Prohibition was foisted on
the American public.
I grabbed the
first empty desk in sight, the first one in the
column nearest the door to the room. Charlie
found an unused desk somewhere in the middle of
the room, while Will tottered to one near the
window.
Boom! Will
missed the seat and hit the floor. He was unhurt
and managed to plunk himself on the seat as
laughter rippled through the room.
The test
questions were written on a blackboard that
spanned most of the front wall. Even if I had all
my faculties, I couldn’t have read the first
question which was written in cursive on the far
side of the blackboard. After ripping out a
couple of sheets from one of my notebooks, I
called the professor over and asked him what was
question one.
“Name the
eight Hawaiian Islands.”
According to a
girl sitting across from me, I told him, “That
would be tough enough if I was sober.”
We were
allowed to leave after completing the test. I
went straight to the car and waited for my two
fellow idiots to join me. All the while, I
imagined getting expelled. The next class wasn’t
until Friday, some forty-seven hours in the
future. They were among the most miserable of my
life, especially the hours spent back on campus
the next day and Friday morning as I waited to be
called to the Dean’s office. Thankfully, the
call never came.
Finally, the
moment of truth arrived as I entered the room for
Friday’s geography class. The professor, Dr.
Tyler, had a stack of disparate sheets of paper
in his hands. Calling out names, the students
went up to him one at a time to retrieve their
tests. When the last of the tests in his hands
had been distributed, he announced, “Will
the gentlemen who did not receive their tests
please see me after class?”
Mild laughter
cascaded through the room. More torture.
Finally, the
dreaded moment arrived.
“Come
over to my desk, gentlemen.”
Once we were
assembled in front of him. he continued, “I
made a few mistakes back in my undergraduate days,
but nothing remotely resembling yours. Mr.
Drewniak, your grade was 63, Mr. Dixon (Charlie)
60 and Mr. Dempsey 15.
He paused to
let the grades sink into our muddled brains.
‘The next test is in three weeks. You can
either accept what you earned on this test or you
can choose the alternative.”
“Sir,
what is the alternative?” asked Charlie.
“If you
score a 90 or higher, this test grade gets
dropped. Anything lower, it stands. Will had no
choice as he was buried with his grade. Charlie
and I rolled the dice.
I paid full
attention during every lesson, took notes after
notes and pulled an all-nighter the night before
the second test. The result? I aced it as did
Charlie. Will had a crossed out 88 at the top of
his test with a 90 next to it.
“Anyone
for The Wood?” asked Will as we left the
classroom.
|
