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The Sad Story Of The Sorority Girl, The Scrappy Guard, And The Law That Came Between Them

Illustration for article titled The Sad Story Of The Sorority Girl, The Scrappy Guard, And The Law That Came Between Them

Welcome to Great Moments in Drunken Hookup Failure, where we showcase three heartwarming true stories of drunken love gone horribly awry. Off we go.



I had just turned 21, and I was a familiar sight at all the bars near campus. I was usually accompanied by my friend/sorority sister ("Kate"), and we tended to be the kind of drunk girls that everyone hates. We went to a pretty athletically-accomplished state school, and our basketball team had been in the NCAA championship game the year prior and was enjoying an unprecedented level of recognition and popularity. My friend and I regularly crossed paths with one of the team stars—a guard that was often described as 'scrappy'—and made it quite clear on these occasions that we were 'available.' We also made it very clear on almost every occasion that we were pretty much blind drunk.

One of these nights, we were stumbling home (for practical reasons we lived very close to the bars), surprisingly alone, when we got a phone call. It was 'scrappy' and he wanted us to come over. Only one problem—his apartment was on the other side of town. I didn't have a car but Kate did, and somehow it was determined that I was more fit to drive. I don't know how this was determined, since we were both blackout drunk and I had opted to not wear my (very necessary) corrective contact lenses in favor of non-corrective green color contacts (gotta look good, right?) By some miracle that I am still thankful for every day, I did not hurt anyone that night. I did, however, turn the wrong way down a one-way road and slowly roll into a car driven by a very angry girl who was apparently more capable than I of seeing and following directions on street signs.

Long story short, the police were not impressed with my well-reasoned (and frequently repeated) appeal that they should let me go because 'scrappy' called and I had to get to his house. They were also not impressed with the song about being a hoe I chose to serenade them with, while dancing and falling down, in lieu of a field sobriety test. They may have been a little impressed when I blew a .237 BAC (probably not, though.)

So rather than spending the night with my basketball star I spent the night in a holding cell, in my best slutty clothes, being consoled by, quite literally, a crack whore. The lovely officers would stop by frequently to deny my requests for a blanket and some ibuprofen while they laughed and pointed through the tiny plexiglass window at me shivering and sobbing into my cleavage (I know, I deserved it.)

That turned out to be my only chance with scrappy, though Kate did hook up with him on a few occasions. He was always trying to talk her into threesomes with his (male) roommate. I guess he was a team player in all aspects of his life.



I get a 3am txt from an ex-girlfriend, Jackie. She was bartending at some hipster bar that night. It was a bar that closed at 5am. At this point most taxis start fading and don't want to go very far into the southside of the Chicago. At this point I was very drunk. I decided to drive to the hipster bar.

I parked the car and decided to go into the bar where I was greeted by Jackie with a cold PBR. Things are going well, I was getting free drinks and I was gonna bang my ex girlfriend. Time came for Jackie to close shop, we agreed that she would follow me to my place. When I came out it hit me, my fucking car was gone.

Turns out the city of Chicago's infamous "No parking from 3am-7am or when snow is over 2 inches" rule was full in effect where I had parked (see attached picture). Instead of getting it in that night, I asked my ex for a ride to the city impound (about 10 times worse than your typical DMV) 3 hours later and $250 in fines and I finally got my car, Needless to say, Jackie didn't want to fuck afterwards.



I went to a big school in Long Island where the pecking order was made quite clear. Fraternity and sorority members were elite, then comes everyone else. It was tough for a non-frat guy to close the deal and almost impossible if she was a sorority member. There were many sexy girls at this school but one that really stood out, Jessica, happened to live on the same floor as one of my buddies. When I'd see her in one of the local bars (always in some hot little outfit) I usually just admired from a far. After all, not only was she out of my league, she was a sorority girl.

Fast forward to one of those "theres-no-classes-lets-get-smashed-when-we-really-should-be-studying-for-finals" nights at the end of my first semester. I'm in the dark, dirty basement of one of the local bars sipping on a Heineken at 2: 30 am, the last soldier standing after an unsuccessful bid by my friends and I to get laid. They had all left alone and I was about to join them when I spotted Jessica, improbably by herself, dancing at the other end of the room.. We lock eyes and to my amazement she signals for me to come over. She takes my hand as I walk up to her and we dance and grind on each other as only a couple of drunk college kids can. She has her hands all over me, I have my hands all over her. This goes on for 15-20 minutes. At the end of a song I reach over for my beer which I had set down on a table right next to where we were standing. After I take a sip to rehydrate Jessica says "Hey! That's my beer". Terror consumes me as I realize my error. She interrupts my many, many apologies with a simple "It's ok, just get me another one. Let's have one more and then get out of here". I'm in.

My heart racing, I walk up to the bar and order 2 beers but when I reach into my pocket I realize I have no more cash and they don't take plastic. No problemo I thought, there's an ATM right outside the bar. I run upstairs and outside only to find a "Out of Order" sign on the ATM. Now I'm getting nervous. As I racked my brain I realized the closest ATM was actually back on campus, down the street, across 4 lanes of traffic. I would estimate the distance at just over a mile. I took off sprinting. I ran as fast as I could down the street, across the traffic, over the foot bridge, through the garden, past the classroom buildings, around the dorms, and right into the student center where I finally got to the ATM. Out of breath and dripping in sweat, I took out $40 and ran back to the bar. As I got back to the nearly empty bar, the depressing reality had set it. She had got tired of waiting and left. I went home sweaty, horny, and pissed off. She transferred and I never saw her again.



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