Chapter 26: That Whole Yale Thing

“Patrick Bateman: He was into that whole Yale thing. Donald Kimball: Yale thing? Patrick Bateman: Yeah, Yale thing. Donald Kimball: What whole Yale thing? Patrick Bateman: Well, he was probably a closet homosexual who did a lot of cocaine. That whole Yale thing.” - American Psycho I have two major regrets in life. One was leaving NYC to move to Florida. That’s not a stereotypical slam on Florida, I liked West Palm Beach, I just like NYC a bit more. The other regret is that I didn’t go to Yale. I got into Yale, as well as a large scholarship, but instead, I chose to go to art school. That wasn’t the greatest idea, and like most of the bad decisions I’ve made, it was because of a woman. I wanted to marry my high school sweetheart and followed her to college. Then she dumped me, as young lovers always do. It didn’t hurt that bad though that as I got a more than full scholarship at MICA. I wasn’t screwed, but these days I really wish my resume said Yale rather than MICA. One of the things I learned moving to NYC is that no one has even heard of MICA. Everyone has heard of Yale. Sometimes I wonder if the Yale admissions people were like “Did we just try to throw a whole bunch of money at this kid and he just flatly turned us down to go to some boutique art school in Baltimore? Moron.” I did occasionally visit Yale. At the time, the people I knew up there were really into orgies. Now if the idea of a bunch of Ivy League brats forming a cuddle puddle sounds suspiciously like the plot of “Eyes Wide Shut”, that movie is probably where they got the idea. It was an every weekend ritual, though it didn’t go on for very long. The Yale orgy circuit messed up a few relationships and ended at least one marriage. Eventually, everyone got into doing blow, and nothing kills a boner faster than cocaine. Hugs not drugs, kids. A friend and I were up there visiting with a friend from back home. He was a very interesting guy. A self-described pervert, he’s the only guy I ever met that owned a sex swing. He also once asked me to start a business with him making custom, high-end sex toys. He was going to do the design and manufacturing and I would do the marketing. Nothing ever came of it, which is a shame. Between molding, 3d printing, and CNC I bet he could have made some really great dildos. Our friend informed us that after a gallery opening, everyone was going to go to some guy’s place and have an orgy and that we should come. First, we attended the opening. It’s strange to be at a social function that you know will end with everyone screwing one another. We were meeting all these people, and normally back then I would be clamming up. I had severe social anxiety back then. Then something weird happened, it finally really hit me that within an hour or two I was going to have sex with almost every person in the room regardless if I was charming, interesting, or totally awkward. My anxiety vanished. A very hot blond woman was introducing us around, flirting with each of us in turn. Normally he and I would be competing for her attention, but not in this case. We were all going to share. This was a bonobos party, not a chimpanzee party. We all got to the venue where the orgy was to take place. People began drinking beer, wine, and some shots were poured. People began to get very friendly. Then my friend, who is a consummate music snob, remarked with dismay that the music sucked. The guy that was DJing was doing so using a first-generation iPod. It was the kind that actually had a real wheel instead of a touch wheel (let alone a touch screen). I don’t think this model could even do playlists, as there was a long pause between songs while the guy lined up the next track. This was when disaster struck. My friend was not the most self-confident guy in the world, but somehow also a total snob. He always needed to be impressing people in social settings. To that end, he insisted that we head back to the place we were staying and get his laptop so he could DJ. Then he could get this party started right. Initially, I protested that no one was here for the music. I eventually came around though. It was still very early, and the other house was, I thought, fairly close by. I eventually rationalized that we could go back as I had forgotten to bring condoms. There was a bowl on the table with plenty, but I had a favorite type, which I had brought with me from down south. We set out and quickly realized that we had three very major problems. The house wasn’t where we thought it was, we didn’t know New Haven, we were drunker than I expected and couldn’t retrace our steps. We wandered around endlessly, mostly going in circles. It was now dark, and nothing looked familiar. We decided to go back to the orgy, only to realize that we couldn’t find either location. We were lost. I firmly blamed him for our present situation. As time went by, I began grumbling a mantra, “I hate you”, “Dude, I hate you”, “Dude, I totally, totally hate you”, “God damn it, Dude, I totally, totally hate you”. It had been hours, they had surely started by now. If he hadn’t needed to show off his DJing skills and his sophisticated taste in music, we would both be all sticky by now. We did eventually find the place we were staying, just in time to watch the sunrise. When we got there, we realized that he had neglected to bring the key that our host had given him. The door keys were locked in the house! “God damn it, Dude, I totally hate you”. We sat there on the front porch as the sky slowly went from black to indigo to blue. At around breakfast time, our host and his wife returned. “Where did you guys go,” he asked. I explained the DJ emergency, and he just laughed. After we left the guy who usually DJs arrived with his PowerBook. The iPod was only temporary while they waited for him. I asked how it went. He said it was one of the best orgies yet. We really, really missed out. He also told us that the blond woman that had been showing us around had been going wild all night but kept asking him where we were. He thought she was aroused by the idea of initiating a couple of new guys, and very disappointed we’d left. He said that she complained something along the lines of, “Your friends are a couple of pussies!” “God damn it, Dude, I totally, totally hate you!”