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A frat house in not the ideal place to have a seizure. A frat house is a mildew-ridden, hormone-infested pig pen, with free booze. No one wants to have a seizure anywhere, but a frat house is an especially bad place to have one.
If Halloween is a time for questionable costumes, binge drinking, and terror, then my sophomore-year Halloween was a success! I was dressed up as Po from Teletubbies, a chubby, harmless creature whose vocabulary was limited to his own name, dressed in all red, with a triangle atop his head. My interpretation was, of course, a skin-tight red dress, a reflective square made of duct tape on my stomach, and a red pipe cleaner wrapped around my head. I had nailed the questionable costume.
As a sophomore in college, binge drinking had not yet become a fine-tuned skill of mine, but it was Halloween — a night for pretending to be something you’re not. So I threw back a few fireballs — basically shots of cinnamon and antifreeze. Each time the caramel-colored concoction punched me in the throat, I felt my eyes get droopier and voice rise a couple of octaves. The drunk girl inside of me was awakening from her slumber and was ready take on the world. And the world, in this case, was a frat party.
I walked into the basement and was genuinely unsure of what I was looking at. A menagerie of sweaty men with wandering eyes lined the walls of the basement. Strobe lights filled the room with flashing high-voltage beams. If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought I was in a Brittany Spears music video or a club in the red-light district.
I was as uncomfortable as a taxidermist at a PETA convention. My dress was riding up, I was stepping in puddles of mysterious liquid, and my buzz was wearing off. Being at a frat party sober is worse than watching 50 Shades of Grey with your parents. All of a sudden you realize you're trapped in a steaming cesspool of freshmen girls and senior guys making out around every corner. I grabbed Laa Laa and we made our way towards salvation.
We got outside and saw the red and blue flashing lights of the UConn PD. Using the pipe cleaners on our heads, we located Tinky-Winky and Dipsy. I told Laa Laa I was feeling dizzy, and we sat on the hood of a car as everyone cleared out of the moldy dungeon.
While sitting on the hood of the car, I felt the street start to wobble. The ground was getting closer and closer. I let out a scream before I finally went completely limp-noodle all the way to the pavement.
Remember the painted-on red dress I was wearing? It was so tight that my friends and I went commando. Well, that came back to haunt me because I ended up flashing everyone within a two-mile radius.
I wasn’t conscious when my seizure occurred, but I've been told Dipsy covered me so spectators wouldn’t Snapchat my fully exposed rump. Laa Laa and Tinky-Winky carried my shaking body to the grass. Another friend of ours called an ambulance.
I was woken up by blaring flashlights and crying girls. Now I know how it feels to be a newborn opening its eyes for the first time. My knees were bloody and I was far away from the car I had been sitting on before. My first words were, “What’s the issue? Why am I bleeding? Can I go home now?” The police tried to pressure me to go in the ambulance, but that would have cost me a fortune, so they left me and my squad on the side of the road.
At this point the party was busted, sober rides were booked, and I was still trying to figure out why my knees were bleeding.
“I did not have a seizure,” I said to Dipsy.
“Jessie, I watched your body shake on the ground uncontrollably. It was the scariest thing I have ever seen,” she said.
“Well, it is Halloween.”
I woke up that next morning and vowed never to return to the scene of the party for the rest of my life. No one knows if my seizure was caused by alcohol or the annoying strobe lights in the basement, but what I do know is that I have worn underwear on each Halloween since.