Free Radio

My wife asked me the other night what was my favorite story about us. I didn't think of this one at the time, but here it is.

We were both still in college and lived across the hall from each other in a dorm. The dorm had two sides (North & South) and was shaped like a U with all of the class rooms in the bottom part of the U. Thus, if you were on the right side of the hall, you could look across the way and see whether the lights were on in the other wing. Hope that makes sense.

Anyway, someone got us a microphone and we plugged it into our stereo so we could talk to the other wing. And by talk I mean yell at, play music, offer to put on suntan lotion for girls who laid out on the lawn and otherwise harrassed people. We liked to yell across the way and tell people what to do. Typically that only involved turning lights on and off, waving, dancing, pressing their breasts up against the window. Yeah, you're right, that last one never worked.

One afternoon, we began to drink and engage in our "broadcast." Eventually, a class that my wife and I were in together (we were just flirting then; not even dating because she had a boyfriend while I pined for her) rolled around. I blew it off, but she went and snuck a gin and tonic into the class. It was something really boring. I think Agricultural Economics with some Grad Assistant who was a complete bore and a farmer type.

Unfortunately for my wife, the class took place in the dorm. That's right, it was in one of those classrooms in the U shaped part. Luckily for me, it was warm enough that they had the windows open. All the better to hear us as we engaged in our broadcast.

So I start yelling my wife's name. "Hey, you're not paying attention. Check her glass. She hates this class. We're just killing time 'til we're free." You can imagine the line of commentary.

Finally, the GA says, "Umm, I believe you're being paged." (I only found this out later). What I first heard was the door to our wing open and someone yell, "I'm going to kick your ass" and a bunch of laughter followed by running feet.

We shut the door in her face and continued our commentary. "Wow, it seems like we've struck a chord with our audience. Someone is pounding on our door to show their appreciation."

We eventually let her in, but I still think she was more pissed than laughing.