It was raining. I definitely had my share of “consumption” for the night, as people started to leave the once-crackin’ house party. Some left through the front door, others the garage. The really plastered partygoers drunkenly hopped over the urine-soaked back fences because they could’ve sworn they heard someone yell, “Cops!” And there I was. Standard-issue plastic red cup in hand with only a swig left. Just as that sweet, sweet concoction was about to grace my palette, it hit me 8212; I have to walk home. Weak.

This is a realization no inebriated person enjoys coming to grips with. It’s that part of the night when all the young booze enthusiasts migrate to bed. Whether in their own, or in a “new friends”, they met that night, everyone needs a place to sleep. Seeing as how I hadn’t met a “new friend” I decided to look for the ones I came with. One was hooking up on the couch and the other was passed out in a position only a catatonic person could find comfortable. Both seemed happy enough. So, I flipped my hood on, put my head down and with freezing hands in my pockets, started my trek alone.

I didn’t want the ticket-happy police to shine their brights on me, so I watched each shaky step I took. I reluctantly passed on the always-satisfying late night burrito and kept my sights on making it home. Waiting for the crosswalk, I noticed a fight breaking out. A big behemoth of a kid socked this poor, gangly freshman right in the jaw for God knows what. Needless to say, the youngster fell face first in the street instantly. As messed up of a scene as it was, I couldn’t help but laugh as I crossed the street. There was just something funny about it, in a twisted way.

I was making good progress when I noticed a couple of sorority girls walking in my direction. As they passed, I learned something. No matter how non-threatening you look, if it’s really late at night, and you’re a dude stumbling home by yourself, any and all females will undoubtedly be scared of you.

They didn’t recognize me as a fellow faded student trying to get home safe. They immediately saw me as a stereotypical “Law & Order”-type assailant looking for his next victim. I know, because as soon as they noticed me, they grabbed each other for dear life and ran to the other side of the street. That just seemed excessive. I understand they’re just trying to be careful. They didn’t know me, after all. But shouldn’t that kind of reaction be on a more “read and decide” basis? For example ladies, wait and walk past the guy. If he gives you a little nod, maybe even a smile or a “hello”, return the favor and keep it moving. Don’t just jet at the first sight of a dude in the distance. But, by all means, if a greasy guy creeps up to you and tells you to get in his van, I think you should feel free to start sprinting.

Anyway, I finally made it home. I avoided the hazards and overcame all the obstacles. Now it was time to pass out. The only thing left to do was reach in my pocket and pull out my keys. And here’s where karma comes in. I had my wallet and my phone, but no keys. I must’ve left them at the party. I should have never cracked up when that guy got hit. It just goes to show you, when you laugh at someone getting hurt, you’ll end up sleeping in the street just like them. Oh yeah, and always make sure you have your keys.

8212;Kevin Scannell is an English senior and loves to say, “Hella.”

8212;This column does not necessarily reflect the opinion of The Daily Aztec.