Editor’s note: The following is a continuing journal of a fictional college student. It is intended to be a humorous and enjoyable feature about an average Joe. Though written by Iowa State’s own Scott Jacobson, a Daily staff writer, people, places and events detailed below are not analogous to a real student.

February 4, 2000

So there I was, limping home along Lincoln Way, gnawing on my loaf of day-old Jimmy John’s bread with my soaking wet flannel shirt wrapped around my head, when I stopped to ponder just how a night that had started without any expectations had gone so well for so long, yet ended so poorly and painfully.

Let’s start at the very beginning.

The night began as many do, with Carl, Eddie, Walt, Pablo, Chet and I sitting around our living room playing the Millennium Edition of Trivial Pursuit with cocktails in hand, Sonia Dada on the stereo and our bets on the table.

We figure since everyone seems to be ripping off “Who Wants to be a Millionaire?,” we’d get in on the action and raise the stakes of our weekly tests of knowledge.

If you miss a question, you throw in a quarter. You can get your quarter back, however, if you get an Entertainment, Wild Card, Sports and Leisure, or People and Places question right. A correct response in Science and Nature doubles your bet at fifty cents and success in History can earn you a dollar.

None of us really paid attention in high school.

After exhausting our brains and our billfolds, we decided it was time to head out on the town.

We were divided on which bar to hit first as Carl wanted to watch basketball at Welch, Eddie wanted to dance at Sips, Walt wanted to shoot pool at Paddy’s, Pablo wanted to hook up at The Dean’s List, Chet wanted to throw darts at Cy’s, and I just wanted to grab a beer at People’s.

So we went to Lumpy’s.

As we walked down the stairs and into the bar, we each knew our assignments. Carl and Eddie went to the back room to grab one of the long tables. Walt and Pablo did a walk-through to see who was there, Chet grabbed a deck of cards and I ordered the first round.

That’s when it happened.

After carrying back five of the six drinks to the boys, I returned to the bar for my own concoction and got blind-sided by a young lady carrying four very full beers.

Before either of us could react, a 48-ounce tidal wave of Bud Light found its way from the four plastic glasses to the front and sides of my coat and flannel.

Standing there speechless, she looked as if she couldn’t decide whether to apologize, cry, or flee the scene and go play in traffic. Instead, we both erupted in laughter.

I mean, what else can a guy do? The beer is already spilled, the whole thing was a complete accident, and most importantly, she was a fine looking young lady.

As I set my drenched garments on the bar and ordered another drink for her, we somehow got into a conversation about embarrassing moments.

That led into a talk about what we were like in high school and how much we’ve changed, which then lent itself to the topic of what we want do with the rest of our lives.

Two hours later, we were still talking — we had covered favorite sports teams, places to travel, and superheroes or supervillains — when one of her friends walked up looking a little less than pleased that their table never received its round of drinks. The other girls were upset. That’s bad.

When girls get upset, girls decide to go to another bar, regardless if one of their friends is having a great conversation with a somewhat charming fellow.

And that’s how it ended.

Later that night, on my way home, I was oblivious to the fact that someone had stolen my beer-soaked coat and I hardly noticed when I slipped on the ice and slammed my knee on someone’s Lumina. I didn’t care that I spent my last dollar on a loaf of old bread and I had no clue where the rest of my boys had disappeared to.

All I could think about was two hours of solid interaction and the fact that although I knew her name and an assortment of hobbies, memories and interests, I had no idea when and where I would ever see her again so we could pick up where we left off.

And that can make for a long walk home.