Breaking the Ice

I'm doing some writing about depressed moods, whoremones and the darker side of my life, but for now, I'll post something light.

Whenever I get together with my college roommates--those of us who, due to the absolute worst social security numbers of the UNC freshman class of 1990 ,were placed at the 11th hour on the 5th floor of Carmichael dorm--there's a story that we retell over and over and over.

The scene: Fall, 1990, first week of class, our freshman year, me and my new suitemates, all of whom were strangers at this point. We ended up next door at Teague because they had a cigarette machine, and one of the girls smoked. The cigarette machine took the quarters without giving cigarettes in return and the smoker went off to find a way to get her money back.

The story: The rest of us waited in the vending machine area for our new suitmate to return. Again, strangers at this point, embarking on what would become the best years of our lives. To break the ice and kill some time, I made up a game. Wouldn't it be fun to all stare at the food/candy vending machine for thirty seconds, and then one by one, with our eyes closed, try to remember, in as much detail, what foods were where? Who knows what my new suitemates thought of the game, or me for suggesting it, but they played along.

We found out something important during this ice-breaking exercise. We learned that Anna has a photographic memory. We'll never let her hear the end of it. After thirty seconds of studying the vending machine, when it was Anna's turn to have her eyes closed, with accuracy that shocked us all, she rattled off, "Top row. Left to right. Plain M&Ms. Peanut M&Ms. Snickers. Kit Kat. Babe Ruth. Next row. Left to right. Doritos. Cheetos. Plain potato chips. Barbeque potato chips. Bugles."

Wow.