Ted's Not Here Anymore
In college, I had a roommate named Ted, but he soon got an off-campus apartment with some friends and moved out, leaving a bare bed.

One random evening, I went out in the evening and eventually returned. I lay down on my bed and immediately fell into a deep sleep. Unaccountably, I had failed to lock the door of my dorm room.

About twenty minutes after I fell asleep, the door opened. Fluorescent light from the hallway spilled in. Confused, and struggling to wake up, I said, "Is that you, Ted?" The stranger said, "What?" Squinting against the light, I could see the stranger was thin and had curly hair, much like one of Ted's friends. I addressed the stranger as if he was Ted's friend, even though, at some sleepy level, I KNEW he couldn't be the same person:

"Ted's not here anymore. He's gone, he moved out."

Startled, the stranger said "What?" So, I repeated myself: "Ted's not here anymore."

The stranger responded: "I'll be Ted if you want me to."

Becoming alarmed, I sat up and struggled to awaken. The stranger closed the door and walked decisively over to my bed and sat beside me. I could smell alcohol on his breath.

The stranger grabbed the covers on my lap and with a single motion, swooped the covers down to my ankles. I reached to my ankles and pulled the covers back to my lap. Again, the stranger grabbed the covers on my lap and swooped them down to my ankles, and again I reached down to my ankles and pulled the covers back to my lap. I asked the stranger, "OK, what do you want?" He said, "What if I told you I was a flaming faggot looking to get fucked?" I said, "Then I'd say you are in the wrong place."

What to do? I was worried about a hunting knife I had left out on Ted's bed. Did the stranger see the knife? Apparently not: darkness was restored when he closed the door. Could I get to the knife first? Very risky. Not only would I have to jump over the stranger, from sitting in bed, but there was no reason he couldn't get to the knife first, or wrestle it away from me even if I managed the feat. Violence wasn't the answer for this problem. The fellow was clearly living out a fantasy of some sort. I desperately had to pop his fantasy bubble, and fast. But how?

So, I began talking to the fellow in a dull, drab monotone, about all manners of tedious things - the importance of well-written car repair manuals, the spread of standardized testing, economies of scale - you get the picture.

After a while, I noticed the stranger's shoulders slump in drunken fatigue, his stubbly jaw slacken, the tension slowly disappear. Suddenly, the stranger stood up, went to the door, and left.

Maybe I should have pressed my luck, and invited him to be my special pal. We could have recited the telephone book to each other.
(Perv With A Dog had his eyes pecked out by scrub jays on, Fri 16 Nov 2007, 2:24, 3 replies)

Jeez!
Why didn't you scream your little lungs out?
(TDub Nunc id vides, nunc ne vides on, Fri 16 Nov 2007, 3:25, closed)

^ I should like to be associated with the remarks of my esteemed colleague TDub
Fuck, that sounds terrifying!
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Fri 16 Nov 2007, 8:35, closed)

since the tactic worked,
... I'd say it was far better than screaming,
which may have caused paniced overreaction.
(haberman is singing in the changes, Fri 16 Nov 2007, 10:58, closed)