A Fool's Last Laugh

"No!" I shrieked as I saw Tom leap from the third-story balcony. Surely, he wouldn't survive.

It all started when I met my roommate, Tom our freshman year at Ohio State. I was excited to be at a party school since, in high school, I was voted "Most likely to bore classmates to death." I'd be lying if I said that didn't sting. I was ready to embrace a life of fun and humor, and with a little luck, some girls.

Tom was the perfect guy to educate me in the ways of the world. Unlike me, Jake, he had older siblings, and he was confident, sarcastic, and quick-witted. We hit it off right away.

Tom took one look at my class schedule and said, "Jake, you're nuts! You've got 8:00 classes Monday through Thursday, and you took a long Friday class. Haven't you ever heard of Thirsty Thursday? How are we supposed to go out partying if you've got a class the next day?"

I chuckled, "Thirsty Thursday? You made that up, right?"

Tom's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "Dude, what rock were you born under?" He grinned and pushed my shoulder. "I'm telling you it's a thing."

I put my finger up in the air to speak, but he interrupted, "...and if you complain about being under-aged, I'll buy you the dorkiest shirt with the word 'VIRGIN' printed on it and make you wear it for a week, and it will be all in caps."

I put my finger down.

Tom had a hound dog's nose for sniffing out fun. That first Thursday, I drank too much, too fast, and fertilized the bushes outside the fraternity house we snuck into. Tom smacked me on the back and said, "Good, puke it out, because I don't want you barfing off our balcony."

My Friday class was a challenge, but with sunglasses on in the bright room, I managed. At least I slowed down the next night.

Saturday, we stumbled into the cafeteria a minute before they stopped serving breakfast. The food was lukewarm and had been out there for hours, but I was looking forward to my scrambled eggs with bacon and potatoes. I told Tom, "Watch my food. I have to take a leak. Too much beer."

"Sure Jake, no sweat," he mumbled with food in his mouth.

When I returned, I suspected that some of my food had been gone missing, but I ignored that detail. Tom said, "Here, needs salt," and handed me the shaker.

Taking his advice, I sprinkled the seasoning over the whole dish. I took a big mouthful and promptly spit it out. Tom was busting a gut, laughing. I slammed my fork down, crossed my arms, and said, "What did you do to my food?"

When he stopped laughing, he said, "Nothing, I swear."

"Yes, you did. They wouldn't serve this swill."

He held his hands up with a scarcely concealed grin on his face. "I didn't do it. You did. I just put some sugar in with the salt." He guffawed even louder. "You should have seen your face!"

"Oh," I scowled, pointing at him. "It's on now. I'm gonna get you back, and I'm eating the rest of your food." I grabbed his plate and started shoveling eggs into my mouth.

"Fine," he waved me off, "I was done anyway."

Two days later, while Tom was sleeping at 10:00 in the morning, I filled our room with balloons. Then, before I had to leave for class, I popped one right by his head.

He jumped up and yelled, "I didn't do it!"

I laughed, and he joined in. Then he said, "You know what they say about payback."

"Bring it on, dude."

The next morning, I tried putting on my shoes, but my foot wouldn't go all the way in. I thought, What the? Have my feet swelled up? I tried a different shoe, but with the same result. I reached in and found a wadded-up sock. Every shoe I owned had been given the same treatment.

Two days later, I bought some rubber spiders at a dollar store. While Tom was at class, I attached them to a string by the door and rigged them to fall. When Tom walked in, the spiders fell and hit the target, right on his face. He panicked and swatted at them, but that just made them swing back and hit him again. I captured it all with my phone, trying not to laugh too loudly and ruin the video. With a chuckle, Tom acknowledged a prank well played.

The next day, when I was putting on deodorant, I knew something wasn't right. It was sticky and gross. Tom chortled, phone in hand. He said, "Cream cheese doesn't make a good deodorant, does it? Gotcha!"

Another day, I put petroleum jelly on the inside of the door handle of Tom's Saturn. When we were about to head to another "Thirsty Thursday" party, he got his fingers right in it. He groaned, "Ugh, this isn't your stuff, is it?"

I laughed, "Relax, it's just Vaseline."

He replied with a devilish smirk, "Okay, that was a good one. Just you wait!"

The next day, I found a package of Oreos on the coffee table in our room. My favorite! I bit into one, but Tom had replaced the cream with toothpaste. Reluctantly, I had to admit he got me that time.

The next day, while he was showering in the community bathroom down the hall, I swiped his clothes and his towel and left only a washcloth. Being the ham that he is, he waved the washcloth like a lasso as he galloped naked down the hall. Everyone who saw him got a good laugh out of that one. Thankfully, no one recorded the incident.

The next Monday, I came into the dorm room after my morning class. Tom looked like he had been crying.

He said, "I just found out my grandma passed away, and I can't take this college stuff anymore. The classes are too hard. Everyone is right. I ain't college material. Now you're a much better prankster, so I don't even have that going for me. It's been fun, Jake. Goodbye."

He ran for the balcony, climbed on the railing, and jumped just as I ran toward him. I shrieked, "No!" but I was too late. I ran to the edge, and he landed on a wrestling mat, bounced off, and landed on his arm. Stunned, I shook my head and ran down the flights of stairs to join him.

He told me as he cradled his arm, that he had found out the wrestlers were moving the mat. He paid them $20 to leave it there for 30 minutes. But the last laugh was on Tom. He broke his arm when he fell off the mat.

We swore that we weren't going to prank each other anymore. Well, maybe just a little.