My Date with Destiny

One event in my junior year of college defines my entire outlook on life and love.

It was an afternoon right before our summer break. I finished my exams early and was in the living room of our four-bedroom apartment on a phone call with my ex. Our apartment was collegiate-eclectic, as any apartment housing four boys and a full liquor bar would be. It was full of random items that people who would come and go would leave to be reclaimed later, or not. One of the items: a stainless steel pistol that shot BB's at a powerful pressure. At the time it was sitting on our kitchen counter between the paper towel rack and last night's egg sandwich. Its luster commanded me to grab it, providing an enticing object to a person who's nerves were on end. The "worry-bead" effect. Before I knew it I had the unloaded BB gun in my hand, unconsciously clicking away as the argument escalated.

For the life of me, I cannot remember what this particular argument was about. We had so many of them that to recall one specific altercation would cause an aneurysm. What I do remember is my roommates had upcoming exams. If the distraction of this argument continued the next fight would be with them, so I decided to take the phone call outside as not to bother them. My anger and the BB gun came along.

Our apartment complex was a collection of small buildings set to view each other. Each building was 3 floors tall with 4 units per floor, and each had a balcony. We were on the ground floor at the center of the pavilion, in plain view of all common areas. This was a great set-up for the socially engaging group that we housed at 1753 Exchange. But on this particular day this location would help cause a rupture in an otherwise normal sunny Florida afternoon. There wasn't a whole lot Stephanie was able to say to me without arousing my anger, and my voice escalated as I badgered her on the cell phone, all the while clicking the trigger of my rubber-gripped companion.

I never saw it coming.

Within 20 minutes of stepping outside my front door, I was surrounded on perimeter by three police officers, guns drawn, ready to unload the chambers of their war machines on my trembling 20 year-old body. Nervously laughing, I set down the phone and the BB gun and was face to face with my destiny...and all I could think of while staring down the barrel of this officer's pistol was one thing:

Women are going to get me fucking killed.