P.I.M.P.

Back before I had officially declared myself an English Major and was still floundering about with the idea of heading into Business Administration, I found myself in an Algebra 120 class at my now alma mater of good old Southern Illinois University Edwardsville. It was in this particular class – that I was taking for my second time – that I experienced the single most terrifying moment of my entire life. Even to this day, no other event has caused me such terror.

Let me just start by saying how absolutely awful I am at advanced mathematics. Not to brag, but I am highly skilled at basic level math like instant addition, subtraction, etc., but when you start tossing in letters alongside those numbers – it’s game over! I took Algebra 120 three different times while at SIUE and never once passed that class. The first time I crashed and burned with an “F.” The second time I wised up considerably and dropped before I could finish with a D. And the third time is where our story truly begins…

For whatever reason, I was taking this Algebra 120 class at 8:00 in the morning on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. What an awful time for a math class but alas, there I was. Being that it was so early and I only had one other class those days immediately following at 9:00, I would show up each morning in my pajamas, typically a graphic tee shirt and some flannel pants. This unsuspecting fashion choice became the root cause of all my problems that particular semester.

Although we had no assigned seating, everyone pretty much sat in the same exact place each subsequent class period as where they landed on that first day. For me this meant in the row furthest from the door along the far wall near the back. There were maybe fifteen of us in this class and the room held at least forty, if not more, desks. Everyone was spread throughout the room, but I was definitely the furthest one out from the small bunching of kids in the middle.

Being that this was round three for me in Algebra 120 I was killin’ it in those first couple of weeks. Honestly, all A’s, but as the semester pressed on and August turned into September my grades started to slide a bit. Not quite into failing territory right away, but the downward spiral had commenced.

Each week we would take a quiz on Wednesday and would get our results Friday. We would have to walk to the front of the class Wednesday to turn the quiz in when we were finished and take the same walk on Friday to collect our results. This walk was unknowingly causing me a world of trouble because I suppose I was looking too damn good in my pajamas for a fellow classmate to not take notice.

There was a boy in the front row that greatly resembled a young Curtis Jackson. I’m gonna go out on a limb here and assume that sadly – and this pains me to admit this – but there is probably about half, if not more, of y’all reading this who have never even heard of Curtis Jackson. However, it is my hope that at one point or another y’all have heard of actor/rapper 50 Cent. Well, 50 Cent is Curtis Jackson’s stage name and this particular young man looked like he could be the younger brother of rap icon 50 Cent.

If I am sitting in my desk facing the dry erase board and the teacher’s desk, this individual sat in the very front row just to the left of the teacher’s desk, so each and every single time I – or really anyone else from my side of the room for that matter – had to go up and either turn in or collect their weekly quiz, we had to pass this young man.

As summer became autumn and my quiz grades, like the leaves outside, began to fall this boy apparently had taken notice. Owing to his placement right by the teacher’s desk, he was probably aware of each and every single one of our classmates quiz results, but unfortunately for me, only mine warranted his attention.

On one late September day, class had come to a conclusion and everyone made their way out the door. Being the furthest from that said door, I was generally the last to leave and this day was no exception. As I exited the room this young man was waiting just outside the classroom door for me.

“You need help in that algebra class?” he said as soon as I had crossed the doorframe.

Instantly, I stopped in my tracks for I was a bit caught off guard. “Um… no, I think I’ll be alright.” At the time I definitely thought I could turn the beat around. Oh, how optimistic I was about that math.

“I seen your grades,” he informed me, which in the moment did catch me by surprise, but like I said, after some thought it made sense that he would see pretty much everyone’s. “I really think I can help you,” as he continued, he stared at what I assumed was below my waistline rather than at my face.

“I really appreciate the offer, but I think I will be okay,” I assured him and bid him farewell as I made haste towards the stairwell in route to my other class. At the time I truly didn’t think I needed a tutor, but one thing was for certain, if I did need one, it was not going to be this young Curtis Jackson replica.

Well, two more weeks passed by and I received two more lowly quiz grades, so once class let out that Friday morning two weeks removed from the last encounter my “friend” was waiting for me outside the room once more, but this time right at the opening of the stairwell.

As I walked towards the stairwell I could infer that our encounter was inevitable, so I braced myself for impact.

“You need help in that algebra class,” he repeated like clockwork.

“You know, I think I’ll still be alright. It’s just a couple of bad quizzes,” I said with a smile hoping to keep his eyes level with mine rather than on my pajama bottoms.

“You’ve got six bad quizzes,” he remarked in the most serious of tones.

I was stunned because he was right, I did have six bad quizzes but even if he could see each grade, why was he counting them? This was bizarre and immediately made me feel uncomfortable.

I was so taken aback by this grade counting revelation that I didn’t even take notice to the fact that he was blocking half the stairwell and causing a bottleneck behind each of us. Once I realized this awkwardness, I felt even more uncomfortable because everyone around us was probably wondering why in the world we had to have our conversation in the most inconvenient of places?

I assured him once more that I would be just fine in that algebra class and he need not worry about me and my grades and then I bolted past him through the bottleneck. Despite this being yet another weird occurrence, I chose to not read anything further into it and to just go about my life. This turned out to be quite the mistake on my part.

I remember extraordinarily well that in 2007, Halloween fell on a Wednesday. This as you recall, is quiz-taking day. It should be noted that Halloween is my absolute favorite holiday. I believe it to be leaps and bounds better than all the others. I truly love a good scare, but two days after Halloween, I received much more than that.

It was the morning of Friday, November 2, 2007 and I collected yet another awful quiz from the teacher and returned to my desk to suffer through the remaining forty or so minutes of class. Once the bell rang, I followed my classmates in the same usual fashion out the door. Luckily, there was no one waiting for me outside on this time.

I proceeded down the three flights of stairs in Peck Hall to the main level, so I could head outside towards Alumni Hall. I made my way to the concourse underneath the sky bridge that connected Alumni and Founders Halls and decided I needed to use the restroom prior to going to my next class in Alumni. I turned and went into Founders Hall because the men’s restroom was conveniently located immediately inside just off to the left.

I pushed past the double set of doors and entered what was at the time a vacant restroom. Unfortunately for me, it didn’t stay vacant for long.

When you first enter the restroom, there is a mirrored wall with four sinks in front of it and a doorless frame off to the right that opens to an equally sized room housing four urinals along one wall and three toilet stalls along another.

I went and occupied urinal number one of four. As I stood there preparing to do my business, I could hear the double set of doors open and close respectively and large footsteps making their way in my direction. Initially, I thought nothing of it given that this public restroom was bound to attract someone else looking to relieve himself at one point or another. Well, anyone with any sense knows common courtesy says that when one gentleman is using a urinal you always leave an empty one between yourself and the guy already in place when the count of urinals allows for you to do so. Well, common courtesy was about to be violated in a very BIG way.

I stood there minding my own business, doing my business, when the urinal to my right suddenly lost its vacancy status. The young Curtis Jackson look-a-like had filled its void.

“You need help in that algebra class,” he repeated his line-of-the-semester only this time a bit more icily than ever before. His voice sent shivers down my spine.

With great caution, I turned my head slowly in his direction. This was against my better judgment, but I needed to make certain that what was happening was, in fact, happening.

As I stood there continuing to pee, he stood there right next to me stone-faced, body turned towards me, no intent of using the facilities for their intended purpose. He was significantly taller than me. I’d give him an additional five or six inches and I stand a towering six feet tall. When I turned my head, I had to look up at him. He was already staring down at me. Despite us locking eyes, I said nothing in the moment. I was too nervous to find anything to say, so I quickly finished my business and did the 180º turn to the sink room.

I started washing my hands at sink four of four and this individual slowly entered the sink room and parked himself between sinks one and two. Again, failing to use the facilities before him for their intended use.

“I have something I want to tell you,” he uttered slowly, his voice getting much deeper and lower than ever before, his tone was just above a menacing whisper.

My heart quit beating and I froze in the moment, the only thing that continued any type of movement were my two hands rubbing the soap together between them and the water pouring down the drain from my sad failure to shut off the valves.

Rather than looking directly at him over my left shoulder, I starred at him through the mirror. My body facing the mirror straight on and his left side reflected back at me because his body was turned in my immediate direction.

“I have something I want to tell you,” he repeated, I suppose he was looking for a welcomed response from me. “I don’t want you to be afraid, I just have something I want to tell you.”

I was already afraid, so whatever it was I was about to hear would surely only make matters worse.

“Now, I don’t want you to be afraid, but I have something I really want to tell you,” he slowed his words considerably as he spoke this sentence.

While his voice slowed, my heart raced. It was beating so rapidly that I felt like it was running a marathon up my throat and was going to leap right out into the sink. I knew I had to say something and just endure whatever it was he was going to say, so I finally spoke, “Okay.” I didn’t even have the confidence to look at him when speaking, so I looked down at my twisting and turning hands in the sink.

He rightfully took my single spoken word as my willingness to listen and proceeded with the most terrifying, complimentary, and all-around twisted line I have ever encountered:

“You have the biggest package I have ever seen.”

I shut off those water valves so fast that I didn’t even take the time to finish rinsing my hands. I looked up in the mirror from the sink and he was now staring stone-faced right at me. My eyes had become disproportionate to my head and were bugging out intensely. I could feel my heart flat-line and in that first moment following his sentence I think it skipped a series of beats before jumping into overdrive once it started back up.

For far longer than I am sure I realized I stood there frozen, looking right at him into the mirror. I was at a temporary loss of what to do next, but once my heart started back up I knew I had to escape this restroom. If history was any indication I knew he would expect me to say something back, so I said the only thing that seemed appropriate at the time:

“Thank you.”

I turned around and grabbed some paper towels, but as I did he moved his body so that he was now blockading the door and as a result, my only exit. I gave my best effort to wipe away the remaining soap from my hands as I tried to look down at the floor contemplating what the Hell I was going to do to get out of here.

“Now, I don’t want you to be afraid, but I had to tell you that,” he returned to speaking, but this time, he did so with a smile. This was the first time I had ever seen him smile in any of our interactions. This was not a good sign.

“Oh… I… Wow… I really… Oh, wow… I just…I really don’t know what to say,” I sputtered out, still wiping my hands at a pace so ferocious, that I was bound to start rubbing the skin away if I was to continue at it.

He continued to block the door and it appeared that he was now puffing out his chest in an attempt to show some sort of male dominance. My life began to flash before my eyes. My body temperature felt like it was twice the norm and I remember I began to sweat rapidly. I turned to go around him hoping he would let me pass and he turned his body in my direction. I wiped the sweat from my brow. I had a feeling this was not going to end well for me.

I made a motion back to the paper towel dispenser, so the other side of the door from where I just tried to pass by him and he merely turned his body again, but this time luck was on my side.

I heard the first of the two doors open and could hear a couple of voices talking fast to one another as they pushed past the second door and into the sink room. I used this opportunity to blow past the two Fraternity brothers who had just entered and dashed out the restroom to the courtyard underneath the sky bridge. I was safe or so I thought…

“Ben!” He called out after me.

I froze in place. He knew my name. I mean, in retrospect, of course he did given all those papers of mine he saw, but he had never used it up until this point and I had no idea of his. Given that there were dozens of students and faculty alike all around us, I turned back around to face his direction. He walked over my way.

“You work at Target, don’t you?”

He was right, I did work at Target, but how the Hell did he know that? I nodded my head yes because I found myself incapable of speaking.

“You think you can get me a job there with you?” he inquired, and I leapt all over that because it was the out I needed.

“I will absolutely speak to my Human Resources Manager about you. Yes,” I said, only this time I was slightly smiling.

“Yeah, that would be really great,” he replied.

“The next time I go in I will make a point to go and talk to him about you, so yes, we will see what can be done about you working there,” I had every intention of talking to HR about him, so I was not lying, but it was certainly not to help him get a job there. Rather to warn them about hiring this crazy person.

“I would really appreciate it, Ben,” his second use of my name was hair-raising and made me almost more afraid surrounded by dozens of others out in the public than it did when he and I were alone in the restroom. Nonetheless, I turned and set off for my class, walking faster than I had ever done before.

So, for the record, like any other time something of story-caliber happens to me, I told anyone and everyone who would listen. Naturally, the entire store knew of this occurrence. Well, one day a couple weeks later when I was running the front checkout lanes, a group of individuals showed up one by one for their new-hire orientation and much to my dismay, my “friend” ended up being one of them. I instantly went to Human Resources and scolded the HR Manager for hiring this guy and he said that because I didn’t know his name and all I gave him was that he looked like a young 50 Cent there was no way for sure for him to know who to or to not hire. It was only at this point that I learned what his actual name was and for the sake of this story, I am going to keep that between myself and the thousand other people who have heard this story that by chance may remember.

I had instantly dropped that class following that frightful moment, so I was hoping to never have to see my stalker again, but now here he was working with me! Fortunately though, his time at Target didn’t last long. He failed to show up the whole week of Thanksgiving, including Black Friday, and was promptly terminated. I never saw him after that, but a few years later following our tumultuous autumn together, I did find him in the local police blotter. He had not surprisingly been arrested for aggravated assault.

Special Note: Owing to the fact that two fraternity brothers unknowingly saved my life that day (they were wearing Greek lettered hats), I have since been a BIG fan of the brotherhoods. I find them to be an age-old culture full of wonderful traditions that receives little to no recognition for the multitude of positives they bring to the lives of many. Yes, they get stereotyped into being rowdy partiers and the like, but they are so much more than that, and not joining one remains one of my few college regrets.

Well, I do hope you enjoyed reading my terrifying moment more than I enjoyed writing it – which to be honest – wasn’t much, but given this story’s immense popularity amongst my friends I thought it would make a fitting addition to my blog. So, here we go! Thank you all for reading and remember, you are simply the best!