Ok, can I just say that aggies have a reputation for a reason. When I first came here, I was like 'ya, aggies just get drunk and do stupid stuff,' but then I discovered aggie pub, and I was like 'wow, these guys are cool, I want to be thier friend.' I mean, as much as I may have mocked it in the past, two stepping is actually fun, and I even almost grown to like country. Some of my best adventures have been with aggies (see the post about the tunnels.)

Last night though, I discovered the truth. Aggies, at least some of them, actually have no manners or social awareness. The tower girls hosted a party last night for our twin friends' 20th birthdays. Naturally we invited the dippers who live downstairs in our house, but soon grew to question whether or not that was a good idea. Aggies are naturally rowdy, a fact we had not taken into consideration when inviting them. One group of about 6 aggies who we didn't know dropped by for a bit, but decided to leave only after ripping one of my posters off the wall, kicking my dishes around in the hall, and sexually harassing Christy. Another aggie thought he'd show us how much of a man he was by drinking a 60 of whisky. Well, we all saw how much of a man he was (or wasn't) when he pucked all over our bathroom. I mean all over. The carpet, the tile floor, the toilet stall, the sink, the shower...nothing was spared. He then proceeded to spread garbage around our alcove, and then ripped up his peta and threw it around because Vanessa wouldn't open her door to him. He also spilled whisky in every room in the tower, every single room. Eventually we threw him a pillow and a blanket and he fell asleep during 'Clockwork Orange.'

I mean SERIOUSLY! I still love the aggies, and I forgive them because to them this is acceptable behaviour. I'll still be going to every aggie pub, and I still think they are fun guys, but I'll never invite them to one of our parties again unless I am monitoring thier alcohol intake.

Word of advice guys, slow down and be considerate once in a while.

Over and Out
posted by Lisa F, 3:44 PM

It was a night out at the bars last night with my friends from my house.

Ending up at a hip-hop night at a downtown club, the night followed its usual, out-at-a-club routine. I sat, smoked and drank, and, once the buzz from the alcohol and nicotine had made their usual buzzing effects, I made my way onto the dance floor with my friends to make a fool of myself with all the other dancers. Spinning the hip-hoppin' beats was a white man with some semblance of a Jamaican accent (this is Guelph, remember? This is the only city on the planet less ethnically diverse than the 'Shwa. That actually says a lot, because I myself have dubbed the 'Shwa as "the white trash capital of the known universe").

And so, my friends and I danced to the reggae, rap, and whatnot for a bit, then sat down to take a rest.

We sat, chatting over our screwdrivers and mellonballers, and for those of us who can handle alcohol in a form that doesn't taste like candy (not me), beers, when he sat down.

I looked across the table to see an awkward looking gentleman with his long, scraggly hair tucked back in a ponytail and capped off by a baseball cap, with similar frizzy hair covering his chin and upper lip. He was bedecked in a stretched out white T-shirt, baggy pants and skateboard shoes.

He looked at my friends through the smudged lenses of his glasses, and began to whisper in the ear of one of the nearer members of my party.

I'd noticed this sketchy character beforehand, dancing like an ...er... mentally disabled, homeless, drunkard set aflame, taking up what was certainly a fair share of the dance floor. I just had figured he was daft and socially maladjusted, and that was all. Well, maybe I was at least partially right.

When he sat down, I assumed he was just a friendly dimwit trying to make friends with all those at the bar. It didn't particularly shock my innocent sensibilities when I figured out what he truly was, however.

The first question that crossed my mind, which I immediately whispered in Lisa's ear, was: "Er, um...are all drug dealers this ugly?"

She answered me with a smirk and a giggle, and then got up to dance again. I stayed behind to witness the dealings, curious.

I watched as our new friend took a small envelope out of his pocket and spilled its contents onto the table.

Pot. Marijuana. Reefer. Wacky tabacky. Dude, I know what that stuff is. Heh. I'm not naive. I feel "in the loop".

He began crushing it up, and searched his pockets for a paper to wrap. He was out of them, so one of my companions offered one from his personal collection.

In return for this, the friendly pharmaceutical distribution officer handed my friend a full, dried leaf of the stuff.

I was quite amused, at this point, that such goings on could occur out in the open like this. I mean, victimless crime or not, I'd have thought "the man" would have stepped in by now.

[...]

(Yeah, I'm getting pretty anti-establishment. Next thing you know, I'll be freaking out squares. What did you expect, with me living in my own personal equivalent to Woodstock?)

Anyway, at this point, it was just me, Alex, and Mister Dealer Man sitting at the table, Alex and Herr Dealer sharing a spliff, me disinterestedly watching the dance floor.

It was then the bouncer came and grabbed Herr Dealer and escorted him out of the club, returning to pull Alex away too.

Alex called back to me "Er...call me when you guys get in, kay?"

The police officers who had just entered the club walked over to my table and gave me an accusing glare. I gave them an oblivious, girly glance, unafraid and with apparent lack of mystery. With that, they walked on.

I later saw Herr Dealer outside the club while I was waiting to meet up with my friends. Lisa and a few others and I waited for the rest of our posse to show so we could get our cabs home worked out, when everyone's favourite shady character came over to chat with us.

Did you know that you can break a law, as long as you never have to admit to it? Did you know that all the cab drivers in Guelph are part of some sort of secret nark-society, and they're all out to get people? Did you know that Queen Elizabeth is afraid of Canadians because they listen to her thoughts?

So, with the spouting of wacked-out shit like this, yo (hip hop music played at clubs have affected my English in not-so proper ways, lord help me), it's safe assume that my initial impression was correct and our friend was...er...wack.

Yo.

So anyway, we returned to our res, and the rest of the evening was uneventful.

Well, not so much uneventful, but typical.

posted by Christie B, 9:05 AM

It all started around 3 am when I decided I wanted cigarettes and food. Alex, Mike and I loaded into my '93 GM Sonoma and headed to Petro Canada in our pajamas. Next we decided we would go to Ultra and pick up a few groceries. We stood under the "Open 24 hours" sign and found the doors locked, so Alex went in through the open exit door and was proptly told that the store was closed on Sunday nights. We all got back in the truck and decided to drive around Guelph to see if we could find an open grocery store, or, hopefully, a 24-hour diner. Well, 45 minutes later, we had been everywhere in Guelph, with no luck. So, it's early Monday morning, and we all have 8:30 classes. We can't go to sleep we decide, we have class in 4 hours. Kitchener's close, they're bigger than Guelph, they must have a 24-hour diner...right?

Well, we never found out. If you look carefully at the picture, you'll see that the tire blew. We were about 5 km outside Kitchener, but it's cool cause I had my cellphone. At this point in the story, you can probably guess what's going to happen. That's right, it was dead. So, we walked along the side of the street, dodging traffic till we found a Tim Hortons. Our adventure didn't end there, but the rest is kinda boring. Anyway, we got back to the University at about 9am, just in time to miss our classes.
posted by Lisa F, 12:40 AM

That wasn't the end of the day's adventures though, by any means. Granted, I'd already had a pretty full day, wandering about campus in a children's cough medicine begot haze (it's funny...neither harsh prescription narcotics nor illegal smokables are able to get me as doped up feeling as over-the counter, cherry flavoured cough suppressant does), attending a physics lecture and tutorial, writing a quiz, napping, breathing, and nearly ending up with assault charges for bashing a stripper's head in, but it was only one AM that we returned. The night was still young.

An Aggie that Lisa had picked up at the bar shared a cab with us back to campus, and en route, he mentioned something about his tunneling adventures.

No, he's not a rodent or a coal-miner. He was referring to the legendary tunnels running all over campus beneath the ground, connecting all the buildings by dusty, claustrophobic paths.

The legend states that these tunnels were once open to students to travel to and from classes during unpleasant weather conditions, but were eventually closed due to bad shit going on down there. Something about rape, murder, cannibalism, or sodomy, you know, unsavoury things that only take place in darkened, winding tunnels.

Anyway, the university officially denies the existence of said tunnels, nowadays.

They lied. Oh, how they lied.

The Aggie, whose name I can't remember, but that's inconsequential, led Lisa and I from the cab, and for a walk through the industrial area of the campus. Near the university's water treatment plant, our Aggie friend pointed to a pile of plywood, which he removed to expose a grated manhole. Through the grates, the lighted tunnel below was clearly visible.

Jackpot! A while back, on a boring night at Mac Hall, my girls and I, acting on curiosity begot by the rumour, went tunnel hunting. Our search was fruitless, but I swore that night that I would, at some point in my U of G career, get down in those tunnels, so help me, various deities.

Last night would be the time I finally reached the goals I set for myself.

The Aggie lifted off the grating and then lowered himself into the manhole. Unfortunately, we didn't have the convenience of a ladder to help us down the near 15 foot drop to the floor of the tunnel, so one had to lower oneself carefully, finding hand and foot holds among pipes and support beams.

First the Aggie went in, then he helped Lisa down. I followed, but was hit by a wave of vertigo as I began my way down (yeah, as it turns out, I have a fear of heights. This came out of nowhere. Keen). It took considerable coaxing on Lisa and the Aggie’s part to get me to try the decent again, and finally, I did.

I carefully lowered myself to the floor of the tunnel, getting myself filthy with dust as I did so.

The tunnels themselves were entirely unspectacular- moderately well-lit, dusty concrete tubes, grey walls decorated only in the occasional spritz of graffiti, remembering tunnelers who had come before.

[...]

We found our way out of the tunnels by simply walking through a door that led into a custodial room of one of the lecture buildings. And we just walked away. Easy as pie.

So kids, what have you learned from this?

Well, obviously, this means that whenever a ruling force, be it a university or a government, denies the existence of something that is rumoured to exist, that guarantees its existence. So I'm going to have to say that yes, aliens are performing experiments with your baby's brain, despite what the gover'mint says.

Just ask any reliable Aggie.

posted by Christie B, 6:32 PM

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-Christie
posted by Christie B, 6:00 PM