Thursday, February 21, 2013

Flintstones Vitamins vs. Robitussin

There are many terms that only college can teach you. 

shwasty: shit-faced + wasted

bumpkin: blowjob + feces

Hmmm. Definitely thought there were more when I wrote that opening line.

REGARDLESS, they're limited as far as when and where you can use them (at a party; parties), but they're harmless. However, there are a few words I have come across that proved to be harmful - and one of these is "robo-trip."

Call me dull, but I don't go to the pharmacy to get my thrills. One, I like my thrills to be cheap, and two,  I have a personality. I'm also clueless when it comes to my generation's definition of a "good time." I prefer playing a good ol' game of toss rather than 2013's popular pastime, "Toss the Gonorrhea." I'd rather do a handstand than a kegstand, and when it comes to promiscuous behavior, I'm more of a Hide and Seek kinda gal, not your modern Show and Touch slutty-two-shoes. While I consider these my good attributes, I can also recognize my bad ones, like the fact that I like to be right.

It was my freshman year of college when I first heard of "robo-tripping." Two of my friends and I had all come down with a horrible sickness (they don't put that regularity in the college brochure), and we were miserable.

"I need medicine..." my friend moaned.

"Me too...I can't handle this...I don't even feel like drinking, it's so bad," my other friend whined.

"I'm going to Walgreens," I decided. "I have to get medicine. Are you guys coming?"

They suddenly got a burst of energy as they sprung to their feet.

"MEDICINE!" we all cheered, piling into my Volvo.

When we got to the pharmacy, I was immediately faced with a dilemma.

"Guys! Do I get DayQuil or NyQuil? I want to be able to sleep, but I want to feel well during the day when I'm in class...where's the one that does both? Why don't they just have a Quil?"

"Screw that!" they said, laughing at me. "We're getting Robitussin!"

Not only had I never heard of robo-tripping, but I had also never heard of Robitussin. I had always preferred Flintstones vitamins when it came to medicinal needs.

"Yeah, dude, this shit will fuck you up!" they told me.

"What? You guys are being retarded. It's medicine. It's not going to 'fuck you up.'"

"Have you ever taken some?"


"Then you don't know."

"I know that medicine is good for you. Drugs are not. Cough syrup is not going to make you feel any different in the head. It's going to clear your nose and your throat."

"Nah man, it makes you trip! You've never heard of robo-tripping?"


"You've never robo-tripped before? Seriously?"

"That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard."

"Fine. Get your dumb DayQuil. We're getting two bottles of Robitussin. We're going to feel a hell of a lot better than you once we drink this."

I was still shaking my head when we arrived back at my dorm. I adored my friends, but after their claim that cherry-flavored syrup made you hallucinate, I couldn't help but think they were fucking idiots.

I took a shot of DayQuil and sat on the couch as they started sipping their Robitussin straight from the bottle.

"What are you doing?!" I asked, alarmed.

"You're supposed to drink a lot of it. That's how it gets you fucked up."

"You guys will have NO medicine for tomorrow. You better not ask me for some of my DayQuil."

They laughed at me. Again.

An hour passed, and my nose was cleared. I felt great - until my friends started talking.

"I feel soooooo fucked up," one said.

"Me too!" the other giggled. And giggled. And giggled.

And giggled. And giggled. And giggled.

And giggled.

"Shit, this is more intense than I remember..." one of them "slurred."

"YOU GUYS," I said, incredibly annoyed. "Stop. It's all in your head. It's the Placebo effect."

"No, Natasha, seriously, you don't even understand."

"I don't understand?" I scoffed.

"No, you've never done it, so you don't know what it's like."

"Yeah," chimed in Tweedle-Dum, "We're like really, really fucked up."

"This is ridiculous," I said, grabbing their Walgreens bag and storming off to my room.

As I sat on my bed, pissed off and uncongested, I looked into the bag. Still one bottle of Robitussin left. One bottle that had not been opened.

Without pausing, I tore off the seal and opened the cap. I'll show them, I thought, I'm going to drink this whole thing and prove to them that they're faking it. I'll feel totally normal and not even tell them I drank any. Then, when they continue to mock me about not knowing what they "feel like," I'll tell them I drank some and didn't feel a thing. That'll put 'em in their places!

So I drank it. And I walked back into the living room. And I sat back on the couch. And an hour passed.

And then I started to feel weird.

"Uh...guys..." I said. "I feel...different..."

"Yeah, you're sick," they said.

"No...I mean...I feel like...I'm looking into a mirror...of myself..."

"Man, you don't know," one of them said, "You'd feel way weirder if you were robo-tripping."

"Guys..." I said, my words seeming to come out...very...slowly..., "I drank some..."

"You...did? How...much?"





"Uhhhhhhhhhhh..." I got up and went to the bathroom, looking at myself in the mirror. I looked different, but I didn't know why. I also don't know how long I was standing in there. The next thing I knew, there was a knock on my door. I walked out of the bathroom to answer it, and there stood an old woman and a middle-aged man.

"HI! We're part of the University of Tennessee at Chattanooga's academic..." - something something something I was zoning out really bad - "...and we're here to give you a short survey on your experience so far as a college freshman here at UTC."

I walked outside. My friends followed. At the time, it seemed perfectly normal to not invite her in or even respond to anything she had said, and instead, walk outside and sit down Indian-style on the concrete of my balcony. My friends remained standing.

At the time, it seemed perfectly normal to be the only one sitting on the ground with four people standing around you.

It also seemed perfectly normal to lean very far to the right and hold that position for the entire conversation.

"How are you liking UTC so far?" the white-haired woman asked us.

At the time, it seemed perfectly normal to answer her by staring intently at a cloud.

"How are you liking the dorm life?"

And yes, it seemed perfectly normal to decide to stand up with everyone else, and then to come to the conclusion that I was not able to stand. At the time, it seemed perfectly logical to decide that I couldn't stand without ever actually trying to move.

"And what are your thoughts on the food court?" she asked.

At the time, it seemed perfectly normal to erupt into a fit of giggles until I could feel my face turning red.

"Ahem..." she continued over my laughter, "And how do you like your classes?"


At the time, it seemed perfectly normal to answer this question with, "Math."

"Math?" she asked.

"Math," I said.

AT THE TIME, it seemed perfectly normal to repeat the same one-syllable word to her and expect her to understand.

"And what about Math?" she persisted.

"I...hate...Math," I said.

"I see," she said, "Well, hopefully you can work that out."

And it seemed perfectly normal that she had chosen that time to leave as I burst into laughter once again.

As soon as they were gone, I turned to my friends.

"WHAT IS GOING ON?!" I asked, confused, bewildered, medicated.

"Dude, we feel fine now. It's already wearing off."


"We told you! You're the one who didn't believe us. Why'd you drink it, anyway?"


"Yeah, you look really fucked up. Your eyes are all hazy."

"WHAT IS GOING ON?!" I asked, monfused, cewildered, bedicated.

I don't remember what happened after that point. All I remember is waking up and thinking:

I'm sticking with Flintstones vitamins from now on.

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