Crazy Roommate Stories: How A Game Of Beer Pong Ruined A Little Asian Man10 min read

House parties are hit and miss. Sometimes people bring all the alcohol you’ll need, other times people burn in a hole in your couch. Sometimes awesome people show up, sometimes frat boys show up.

Call me old fashion, but I don’t exactly like hearing frat guys yell “LET’S GOOOO” every five seconds. Especially when playing the dumbest game ever…

Beer pong.

It’s not a real sport, yet guys will literally post on Facebook and talk about their game of beer pong days later. 

I only ever played if I could team up with my hyper-competitive cocaine-crazed little Asian roommate. Why? I’d miss on purpose and he’d lose his mind. It was the funniest thing ever. 

And yes, this is the same roommate who “looks like a 5th grader with a dyke haircut.”

It was the weekend so we threw a party. A couple of hours in I decide to make my move and approach Harold. 

Me: Hey let’s team up

Harold: NO.

Me: C’mon, let’s be a team.

Harold: NO!

Talk about being a baby. No consideration, not even a second thought. 

Me: Is this how you talk to people who drive you to McDonald’s at midnight?

Harold: Shut up.

His go-to phrase when he has nothing to say. 

Me: I guess you don’t want to win then.

Harold hates losing. He will do anything not to lose. And yes that includes cheating, cheap shots, or anything that gives him an unfair advantage. He’s proud of it.

Harold: Not teaming up with you is BECAUSE I want to win.

Me: I don’t understand.

Harold: You don’t think I remember what happened last time??? You missed on purpose and we lost!

The trauma runs deep in this one. He was yet to recover from the loss. Devastated. Broken. Ruined. 

Me: That was THREE MONTHS AGO!

Harold: How do I know you won’t do it again?

Me: I won’t! I want to win.

Harold: Julian…I’m serious.

Me: I’ll play for real. Give me a chance. 

Harold: NO!

I realize simply telling him I’ll play for real won’t be enough. Too much risk, not enough reward. But, there’s one thing I know that he’s never turned down…

Me: I’ll drive you to McDonald’s again this week. 

He goes silent, but still doesn’t seem convinced.

Me: Or, even Wendy’s…

I knew I had him at this point. 

Harold: Hmmmm…ugh…fine.

When you can enjoy all the burgers and fries you want and somehow not gain a pound, how could you say no? He’s probably the skinniest regular at McDonald’s, too. Well, other than the crackheads.

Oh wait. 

We team up and Harold sinks the first shot. He has this expression like he’s the biggest badass in the room. 

It’s my turn to shoot, and by mistake the ball went in. Kinda like how in basketball when a player banks in a three-point shot – they missed so badly that it actually went in. Just watch Russell Westbrook play and you’ll know what I mean.

Fuck I said under my breath.

Harold turns to me. 

Harold: …what…?

Shit, he’s already on to me. 

Me: It’s your turn. Shoot.

Harold: You BETTER NOT pull that shit again.

Me: I’m not.

Instantly I get a better idea: I’m going to play serious and try to sink every shot…all until there are a few cups left…then I’ll brick them all. That’d be much more hilarious than simply missing from the very beginning.  

Harold sinks almost every shot and I actually made some shots too. Beginner’s luck maybe. 

With every shot that goes in, Harold would give me a high five and get pumped up. It was kind of exciting, I’ll admit.

We’re in the lead now by a decent amount and have only a few cups left. We have all the momentum. Harold’s enthusiasm is at its peak. So you know what that means…

Ok…time to start missing I think to myself. I’m going to make it subtle, at first. Then slowly make it more obvious I am not trying anymore. 

The first shot was a regular-looking miss. Nothing suspicious. 

The second one was an airball. Forgivable once per game, but no more.

The third, I flicked underhand. 

Harold: What the fuck was that?

Me: Trying a new strategy since I missed the last couple.

His eyes are full of skepticism, but he takes his shot. 

Ok, no more half measures. Time to drop the charade. Time for the knockout punch.

This shot, I decide to bounce it, but only when the other team is ready for it. The timing needs to be spot on, so I make sure to hesitate first and then make eye contact with them so they know it’s coming.

I bounce it and they smack the ball damn near out of the room.

Harold goes silent. The jig is up now. He knows exactly what just happened. He’d been fooled. 

Everyone’s eyes are on Harold now, expecting him to blow up. But what he did next I honestly didn’t see coming…

Harold: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA

Everyone looks around, confused. 

Harold: HAHAHAHAHAAHHAHAHAHHAHAHHAAHHAHAHA

Note that nobody else is laughing. Harold is laughing to himself like a fuckin psycho. 

Harold: HAAAAAAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

By now he looks like a lunatic. We are all looking at each other unsure of what’s taking place.

But then, in a flash, everything turns upside down.

Harold’s attention shifts toward me, his expression now blank. His eyes dilate to such a level that they look black. Flooded with nothingness, he stares at me for a solid five seconds – which is a long time when someone had just been laughing to themselves like a maniac. 

He breaks eye contact…and with lightning speed KNOCKS ALL OF THE CUPS OFF THE TABLE. 

splash

Harold [points finger in the air]: YOU FUCKIN SAID!

Like a kid who lost at monopoly and thinks it’s the end of the world, this wasn’t much different.  

Harold: [finger still pointed] YOU FUCKIN SAID!

I wish you could have seen the expression on his face shift. He went from laughing hysterically, to eerily calm, to full-on rage in less than a minute.

Harold: [finger pointed higher] YOU FUCKIN SAID YOU’D PLAY FOR REAL!

This, was unreal. A cocaine-crazed little Asian man who looks like a 5th grader with a dyke haircut filled with rage is something few will ever witness. 

Me: I said…but I didn’t do…

He throws both hands up in the air, and without hesitation a couple of people step between Harold and me, but it was unnecessary. Harold for some reason never attacks me no matter how wasted or angry he gets. His theatrics are rather convincing to others though, so I understand their concern. 

But…I wasn’t done.

Me: We still could have won but you just fucked it all up.

Friend: Julian, shut up.

Harold squints at me, face sullen. Quiet, but by no means withdrawn.

Me: Who cares that I was missing? We had a few cups left. You could have taken over. You’re good at dominating games that don’t matter. 

Understand that I was also drunk. You may think I run my mouth when sober…but drunk? – I am surprised half the time by the words that come out of my mouth.

Harold’s expression now quickly turns to a fierce look of resolve, conviction, and determination. He stands up straight, looks around and addresses everyone in the house: 

Harold: I’LL TAKE ANYONE ON HERE TWO ON ONE. HUNDRED BUCKS. I’LL BEAT ANYONE HERE. 

Not only did he just lose, he FORFEITED by knocking all the cups over, and now is challenging everyone. Only Harold would do this.

Friend: I’m down, I’ll play.

Harold: And who’s your teammate going to be?

…silence…

Harold: WELL?…….. WHO’S IT GOING TO BE?

…silence…

Harold: NOBODY? NOBODY AT ALL?

It was like in the movie Troy when Achilles yells “IS THERE NO ONE ELSE?” after he fights Hector. Harold said it the exact same way, looking around the house full of people daring anyone to challenge him. 

…except he just lost. That’s something you say after you win. 

Me: I’ll play. 

Harold: [to my friend] HAHAHA! I guess you want to lose. Fine. HAHA! This will be easy.

 It’s amazing how his confidence is off the charts when it has no reason to be.

Friend: Alright, let’s do this. 

Harold: HAHA! Very well then! LET’S DO THIS. 

This time I played seriously all the way through. Every shot I made Harold lost his composure more and more to the point where he basically became a shell of himself. Dude couldn’t throw a tennis ball into an ocean to save his life. 

My friend sinks the final cup. 

The air is sucked out of the room. Anticipation skyrockets. Some peoples’ jaw drops, others have a huge smile on their face waiting for Harold to react – but no one makes a sound. 

The game is not quite over yet though. Harold has his rebuttal shot. His last chance of redemption. The pressure is on. It’s do-or-die right here…

Unfazed, Harold shows no sign of concern. No big deal. He’s ready. He was born for this moment…

The ping pong ball leaves his hand, it sails in the air, and…

*airball*

Me: HAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHA YES!!! 

Harold stares at the ground, in disbelief. Instantly four or five people run over to him. 

Me: That means we won.

Before Harold could react, everyone surrounding him tried to help guide him outside. 

You know how in sports when a player twists their ankle or blows out a knee and they need assistance walking to the locker room? This was like that – it was like he lost the ability to walk and needed aid to continue on. 

Me: Next time I’ll bring a wheelchair!

Throwing a fit in typical 5th-grade fashion, he yelled, groaned, and threw his hands up at me. Surprisingly there was no stomping of the feet or plugging of the ears, though…this time.

I tried to come outside, cause’ I want to help and all, but everyone was adamant that I don’t.

I listened. 

***

There is no principle for this story. 

If you think I was being hard on Harold, you should see his other friends. I am the nice one.

Obviously I wasn’t on my best behavior, though. My intention was to fuck with Harold for no reason other than for my, and everyone else’s entertainment. I said things meant to get a rise out of him. 

But I knew Harold well – since I was 11 years old. He was like a big brother to me. I could fuck with him a little if I wanted to. It was all fun and games. He can take a joke as well as anybody I know. So I don’t have any regrets.  

Most people cannot handle the shit-talking – which is why I did it to Harold so often. He could take a joke so well that I didn’t have to worry about him having a meltdown.

I’m not saying you should be a smart ass and fuck with just anyone. That’ll get you punched in the face. Very few people will take kindly to verbal jabs for an extended period of time.

And no, we never made him pay the hundred bucks. Seeing the amount of confidence he had in every bet and losing miserably was a type of entertainment you could not put a price tag on.

Oh wait, there is a point to this story…

I would like to point out that it’s important to stop being so serious and have fun. You are never too old, or too important, to let loose, have fun, and not take everything so seriously. 

This post is not saying live for only having fun. It’s not saying to avoid working hard on your goals. In fact, I believe we all need to be purpose-driven above all else. And part of that is when you’re with friends and family, that’s the time to let loose, be in the moment, and not take everything so seriously. It will recharge and rejuvenate you unlike anything else and fuel your drive.

Be professional when you need to be. Take what you do seriously not by endless talk – but through actions and habits. Don’t take yourself so seriously to the point where you forget how to enjoy yourself, otherwise, you become a glorified buzzkill.

Allow yourself to shoot the shit with your friends, and have fun. Without fail, some will criticize when they see this – but that’s because they forgot how to do so, and envy you because of it. 

When you’re on your deathbed reflecting on your life, do you think you’re going to wish you took yourself more seriously? Do you think you’re going to wish you had less fun with the people that matter most to you? 

This is where memories are made.  We don’t remember the day-to-day routine, we remember the laughs, the fun times, and the spontaneous moments with our favorite people.  

Never stop making memories.