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A monologue from the play by Sam Graber
Nessa, a college freshman, has just returned to her dorm room after her first night partying on campus.
Nessa s roommate, Brill, won’t leave their dorm room, spending all her time hunched before her computer screen.
The time is late August 1994, the dawn of the World Wide Web.
Since you wouldn’t come and since Greg wouldn’t come I rolled solo. Started at the Quad just waiting for good times to swerve on by and say hop aboard little freshman!
And this big bicep dude also there was all how the Quad was LEAKED and the good times BUMPING at some zesty frat rush, so bicep dude and I bike—oh, did I tell you he had a bike?—
yeah, I rode his bike while he jogged beside but I am SO not frat bait and the biceps creeped me so I pedaled ahead, see ya!,
explored up-campus where next thing I know I’m bong-blasting these Brazilian nacho Dor-jito rumpshakers with sweet boy buzzing,
the only one’d talk to me tho’ was this gangly spaz wearing this John Stamos-Uncle Jessie’s Girl-sweatshirt thing
hawking the keg, gave scoop on some underground bar called Hashtag, whatever that is, you gotta be told about it, you gotta be tagged to get in.
Damn, my feet are wrecked. Probably cuz I biked myself zippy tornado style off-campus to find The Tag.
And believe me when I tell you The Tag WAS ON! Totally the ons. Just a good vibe with upperclassmen, what I’m saying, people with enhanced good time skills.
So I’m barking all kinds’a chatter with this non-Greg Junior Guy I meet at The Tag named Zach, some all-knowing Quantum Physi-sicicist dude, and he’s like HEY: WHY. ARE. YOU. HERE.
Like that, popping the serious while Toad the Wet Sprocket pumps the air and the dance floor writhes around us. I’s like: cartography! He’s like: map engineering?
I’s like work experience with my Dad, map-nerd society for extra, got late accepted ‘cuz I suck at tests and my SAT all kind’a sucked,
and this is what happened next, for serious, Junior Guy Zach leaned in to me all conspirasationalizing-like and goes:
you must visit the restroom. Mmmm-hm! So I crossed The Tag floor all sweat-floor sticky, past red haze lighting
all red-haze-lighty and down narrow stairs ‘til I’m in The Tag dungeon before one door half-off its one hinge, and I pass through.. .and I’m CENTER MAP.
Boys and girls doing weird things in stalls and on stalls and behind stalls cuz it was only stalls and I’m a little freaked cuz they didn’t talk ‘bout THIS at orientation,
so I saddle to this other girl but she brushes me off, struts to a stall, whips out her thing, and goes standing up.
But definitely a woman. But definitely something else going on. It was that moment, you know, so that moment that makes it clear:
we all share the same toilet now. I wish you would’ve been there. I can’t believe you missed it. (NESSA is passed out.)
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