A Halloween Memory

I got a funny phone message from my dad earlier this week. It went something like this:
“Hey did you see only 40 people got arrested at Ohio University last weekend compared to 445 at the University of Wisconsin? What is going on there? Ohio University must not be such a big party school anymore.” There are several reasons why this statistic intrigues my father.

First, my dad, like myself is an alum of Ohio University. He seems to hold as much pride in the party school image as all of his children who went after him. Second, in some publication at some point this year Ohio University was named the second biggest party school in the country behind Wisconsin. My dad also left me a message regarding this ranking when it occurred. Third, during my first Halloween at Ohio University, I was arrested. For some reason, I think my dad (and maybe even my mom) were actually proud of me when this happened.

It’s true I was arrested at my first Halloween in college. The first time (ahem) I was arrested was Halloween 1994 in Athens, Ohio. I was walking down the street as a clown minding my own business when a volunteer cop swooped out of nowhere and threw handcuffs on me. Apparently the open container, which I forgot was in my hand, was against the law. I tried to explain it was part of my costume, but it didn’t work. I was number 14 that night out of 437 people who got arrested. Apparently I couldn’t wait until after I had a good time to get arrested that evening. No…I need to get arrested right away at 7 pm when most people haven’t even left their house yet.

There I was in my blown-out clown costume: the big rainbow hair my mom bought me to wear for this very occasion, clown nose and clown clothes being led away to the local jail. The arrest itself was a joke. I had to walk around with the number 14 around my neck and the lackey who arrested me got to have his picture taken with me. They also tried to fit as many people into these tiny cells as possible.

I was the first of eight girls thrown into my cell that night. One by one they were all led in for various alcohol-related reasons. And one by one they all said the same thing: “My dad is going to kill me!” When I was finally released on bail five hours later and headed back to the party with my friends (what do you expect, it was still early?), I turned to my friends and said: “My parents are going to laugh so hard!” As a matter of fact, my parents were actually upset I didn’t tell them earlier so they could have told all their friends.

I bet none of those girls’ dads called them this weekend with that statistic. Thanks for the information dad.