The Honors Dorm

So I was thrilled for Winter Break, '81-'82. I was excited about the coming semester, where I could focus of material that excited me, instead of muddling through the painful science classes.

I got a job as a Christmas salesman at Jordan Marsh in the Boca Town Center Mall. One of my parents' friends, Elsie Schrier, worked there, and she told me to apply.

I spent the days learning that my father's admonition against being an employee in life was perfect pitch: I loathed the job. My boss was an angry Haitian woman named Jackie, who told everyone she was French. She loved terrorizing the employees, with an imperial manner. I befriended a fellow college student named Michael, who was born in Germany. Over beers one night, he admitted to me that his parents were members of the Nazi party during the War. But, despite our different ancestries, we agreed completely that we despised JAckie, and the 2 weeks we worked there we did all we could to make her life difficult, with Bartleby-like acts of passive aggression...

Meanwhile, my aunts and uncles planned a big New Year's Eve dinner at a restaurant in Pompano Beach. I was thrilled to be introducing all of these New Yorkers to the black swan I was dating -- a Jewess from Colombia! I looked forward to all the comments from my family --"Jews in Latin America??? Who knew?"

The only problem was, she never came back! I called her Mom in North Miami Beach (this was before Aventura existed), and got strange, vague responses about Silvia's whereabouts. Finally, after the third call, on New Year's Eve itself, the mother, Josefina, sort of levelled with me: "She's going to stay in Medellin for a long time, David. Please don't call any more."

Wow! I felt like Ted Bundy, or something. My girlfriend's parents seemed scared of me. And no word at all, after we had been together over a year (10 years in adult time).

My Dad seemed to know the score right away --that when I got off the future rich doctor road, they no longer wanted me for their daughter. "I know it hurts, Dave, but you'll get over it."

He was right, of course, but it took awhile.

Still, it was time to move back to Building 22, in mid January. Serbian New Year's was coming.

Years before, some of the HD residents discovered that in Serbia (I guess it was then still Yugoslavia), they celebrated New Year's Eve in mid January. A Ha! A way now existed for the Honors kids to celebrate New Year's Eve together, even though they were all back in their hometowns on December 31.

So --one of the apartments hosted. There was enormous consumption of alcohol, and the party went on all night. And it was followed by the Hangover Bowl, the only time we played tackle football.

The first one up (usually around 11 am) had the job of waking everyone else, and the pathetic, hungover (many still drunk) headed to the intramural field, where we played and beat the crap out of each other.

I think that year, I played quarterback, and got the biggest beating of my life. It was so bad, I was unable to get out of bed the following Monday, and Barry brought me food. I learned first hand how tough football is...

Later in that first week, Barry, Eric, Mike, and Jorge asked about my girlfriend. I broke down and told them I had been spurned.

Jorge retrieved a bottle of Aguardiente Silvia had given me. It was Colombian liquor, which tasted like licorice. We passed the bottle around, and cursed this evil woman, who had broken my heart because of her perception that I was destined to be poor.

As we finished the bottle, the anti woman toasts grew more explicit. Jorge taught us Spanish curses we never knew. I forgot them, but one had historical significance --something about being the whore of all whores since recorded time...

Anyway -- I was single, and single minded. I attacked my classes. Several were literature, plus Religion, and Psychology.

While Barry, Eric, and Mike were groaning over Physical Chem, and Quantitative Analysis, I'd sit with one of my novels, reading aloud great insights about the human condition, courtesy of Steinbeck, or D.H. Lawrence, or Melville...

The parties at Building 22 continued. We hosted a Super Bowl watch, where several apartments brought their small black and white TVs, and we set them up all over --even the bathroom. We drank beer, we laughed, we learned about each other.

We became women and men.

It was a heady time.