Mikie and the Mouse - another Kappa Phi Delta story

[Hardpan Curmudgeon SASS #8967]

The Mouse

A Kappa Phi Delta story...

 

I suppose that by this point in our lives we’re pretty much accepting of the long-established fact that young men sometimes do things they oughtn’t.

 

But sometimes… sometimes those things surely seem to be pretty good ideas at the time.  Later in life perhaps not so much; but then again…

 

His name was Mikhail.  We called him Mike, Mikie, or sometimes by his last name, which shall remain unstated here.

 

Mike was… well… different. But he was a full-fledged member of Kappa Phi Delta fraternity. Some of the “old-timers” said that they knew when he pledged that he was different. But they figured that frat life would be beneficial for the lad, and help him grow. A good idea; it had worked for many, but then… Mike was different.

 

Okay.  I’ll be blunt.  Mike was “hygienically challenged.”  To be even more blunt, he would shower weekly, seemingly change underwear at least every other shower, and usually appeared to have been dipped in some sort of petroleum by-product.  In fact, Mike was one individual to whom we had to limit our personal exposure. To this end, he was given one of the most premium lodging facilities in the Kappa Phi Delta house. To wit, the tool shed in the back yard.

 

Now, before anyone thinks this cruel, you have to understand that this indeed was a plum room assignment – it was private, well-finished with a closet, bunk over the closet, TV (the only private room in the house to have one), and easy access to the first floor pool hall restroom facility.

 

However, Mike did still sometimes take his meals with rest of the guys and their guests – often too memorable an experience, and not a pleasant one. Sort of keeping with hygienic profile, his table manners were somewhat less than polished – it was quite evident that he’d never read Emily Post.

 

Fortunately, his work and class schedule gave us many enjoyable “sans Mike” meals. But when he was there, it was sometimes disconcerting to see big, burly, rugged and tough football players excuse themselves from table either taking their plates with them or abandoning a barely touched but excellent meal.  Mike’s table manners could have been the model for John Belushi’s character a number of years later in the movie “Animal House.” One of the fella’s girlfriends once made the observation “The boy had grease dripping off his elbows!”

 

In the interest of decorum I shall not be any more descriptive than this.

 

Well, back to the subject of today’s tale:

 

One Sunday evening, Tom Corbett came in late, after working or a ski trip or some such. Wherever he’d been, he’d missed a most wonderful Sunday dinner of pot roast with all the trimmings, and was hungry.

 

“Hey, Fellas! Are there any leftovers?”

 

There were – Mike had been at table, and appetites had been wisely diminished. Tom quickly decided that a roast beef sandwich would hit the spot, so he pulled the platter out of the fridge and set to work constructing his own late supper.

 

Bread on a plate, dressed with mayo, cheese, onion, a dash of horseradish, waiting for the meat.

 

Plate set aside, platter in front of him on the kitchen counter, carefully slicing nice chunks of meat while three or four of us kept him company, telling jokes and talking about the day's football game.

 

Suddenly, without any warning, from the gap between the Kelvinator and the counter a hapless mouse popped up.  Seeing the mob of “man-monsters,” he made a tragic error in judgement and though his best chance of survival would be to zip along the countertop and escape, rather than dropping back into his previous hidey-hole.

 

So off he raced.

 

And without a conscious thought, Tom reacted.

 

Having spent countless hours fencing with his frat bros, Tom instinctively made a single thrust with the long carving knife in his right hand, and ended Mister Mouse’s poorly planned kitchen escapade.

 

Needless to say, we all reacted – first with shock and surprise, then with heaped on congratulations for Tom, as he studied the rodent impaled on the end of the Chicago Cutlery blade. Mister Mouse had not suffered; the end had been very, very quick.

 

And, of course, the conversation turned to “Well dang! What the heck are we gonna do with ‘im now?”

 

Suggestions were eagerly offered, and were quite varied, ranging from “Oh heck, just flush and send ‘im to Hawaii” to “Let’s give him a formal funeral with honors in the backyard!”  All offers were considered; none were dismissed out of hand.

 

And then, it happened: “Someone” [ahem!] came up with a novel idea:

 

“Uh… Fellas… Why don’t we put ‘im in Mike’s sandwich?”

 

Now, in the way of a bit of background, Mike was frugal. And always packed a sack lunch for the next day at school. And sure ‘nuff, his Monday lunch was neatly packed in a brown paper sack in the fridge – we’d all seen it, clearly labeled so no one would take it.

 

Well… after a moment of semi-shocked pondering, a consensus was reached: This was a MOST capital idea!

 

So, we took his lunch sack out and set it on the counter. The first sandwich was removed and set aside. The second sandwich was removed, carefully unwrapped, the lid opened, and Mister Mouse neatly arranged upon his bed of fixin’s, and the lid replaced. Waxed paper was tidily re-folded, the sack lunch was re-assembled and replaced in the fridge, and we all went back to visiting with Tom while he completed and ate his own sandwich.

 

The next day, Bill Wyant (“Wynuts” to the rest of us”) was taking a nap, after a mid-term test at school and not much sleep the night before as he'd gotten home quite late from being on a date. Suddenly, he awoke, and was terrified to find Mike straddling him on his bed, with a knife at his throat.

 

“Uh… Mike… I didn’t do it! Honest! I wasn’t even there!

 

“Heck – I don’t even know what it WAS that happened! Don’t kill me – it wasn’t me! Honest!”

 

He finally managed to convince Mike of his innocence; Mike stormed off, leaving a totally puzzled – but alive and intact – Bill wondering what had almost led to his end.

Sometime later, a couple of other fellas came in, totally beside themselves and still laughing at the sight they’d witnessed earlier.

 

Just about noontime, these two characters had been hanging out in the The Redwood Room, the large cafeteria lounge in the Student Union building. One of ‘em looked up and saw Mike wandering in, books under one arm and his lunch sack in the other hand. Now, neither of these guys were aware of the game afoot, but watched with interest as Mike selected a chair across the table from a cute young co-ed. For some reason, Mike didn’t seem to appreciate that some young ladies just didn’t appreciate him – after all, his attributes seemed to be somewhat overshadowed by his… well… a few of his somewhat less stellar qualities.

 

So, having spotted this singularly attractive fellow student, obviously enjoying a quiet lunch while studying, he quite naturally – for him – selected the seat directly across from her, despite perhaps over a hundred other vacant chairs in the room.

 

He settled in, unwrapped his lunch, and straightaway began devouring the contents of his bag – sandwich # 1 gone in exactly four bites, followed by an appreciative burp.

With his first bite, the hapless young lady across the table glanced at Mike in horror. Suddenly having no enthusiasm for completing her own meal, she quietly slid her tray to the side, and leaned her forehead into a hand, blocking her view of the spectacle unfolding three feet from her.

 

The two frat brothers continued to watch with feeling for the poor girl.

 

Mike’s hand plunged into his sack and emerged with his second sandwich.

 

Hearing the sound of waxed paper ripping, Mike’s unwilling lunchmate glanced up just in time to see him open his mouth and shove the thick Wonder Bread stack toward a gigantic “chomp.” And then, just as Mike was about to take his huge munch, it happened: With almost stop-action clarity, the mouse’s tail slipped from between the crusts and swung in a “dingle-dangle” arc.

 

That did it.

 

The sweet, innocent co-ed let out a horrified, ear-splitting shriek. She leaped to her feet, the chair she’d been perched on tumbling backward. Her arm swept her half-full soda glass off the table, cup, soda, and crushed ice flying. With no attempt to assemble her schoolwork, she wrapped her arms about books, papers, and binder, and ran from the student union, a dissonant stream of hysterical screams marking her progress across the campus.

 

Mike – as well as the two frat brothers – watched in amazement. The brothers reported that Mike thankfully discarded the sandwich after a cursory - that's all that was needed - inspection. They did not report on whether or not he finished the other goodies in the bag; knowing Mike, he likely did, but hopefully only after close examination.

 

Mike never did find out who was responsible for the sabotage. And I’d like to say that we saw a marked improvement in his dining deportment after this episode. I’d like to. But…

But sometimes young men’s “good ideas” may not necessarily have been so good. But then again…

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

[Duffield, SASS #23454]

We had a guy like that in Basic Training.  He would wear one set of underwear for a week, then replace it with a new set.  The old ones went into the trash can.

His squad gave him about six GI Parties, starting with him fully clothed and washing one layer at a time, but he never did get the idea.

My sympathy to all of you who endured this gentleman.

BTW.  Was Mikie from Pennsylvania's coal region?

 

Duffield

[MizPete]

There's one on every school bus.  But that's no excuse for what happened to that poor mouse.