SH3 Hash Trash
Vol. 1, No.
Hash Date: 20 November 2003
Written by: Virtual Clinton
OK, as fate would have it, all the participants in the November hash lead such busy lives that no one has written up the November hash until now (it couldn't be that we're just lazy bastards, no, that's not it...) So, reaching in to the dark recesses of my mind, I can recall the overall shape, but the details are a bit murky. If the following doesn't jive with your memory, remember that truth is beauty, beauty is truth, and so if it's not pretty, then reality must have gotten it wrong...
It was a dark and stormy night. Actually, it wasn't stormy, just a bit cold. In fact, once we got warmed up, it was a fine night for running.
Just Ephraim, Just Julie, Just Joy, and myself, Virtual Clinton, gathered at the usual time. We all shared a bit of "antifreeze" and were ready to go. Unfortunately, Father Snowball and Papa Don't Preach, the hares for the evening, had not arrived yet, so we had a bit more antifreeze while we waited. The hares finally stumbled in (20 minutes after their scheduled departure) and hoisted a little antifreeze and we were loth to see them drink alone. When we finally got underway, it seemed like a pleasant night indeed.
The trail started out going east and north, but finally wound its way west to campus. Just Ephraim wandered off course and was delighted to have discovered a short cut. What he didn't know is that he had found the turkey leg of the turkey/eagle split. More mysteriously, he couldn't locate the trail after it joined up again and had to wait for the rest of the pack to catch up. The rest of us were trooping through Workman Hall, up the stairs to the third floor (there WAS an elevator, y'know), down the hallway (beware, graduate students may be present), and down the stairs and out again. The trail was discovered without difficulty (Just Ephraim notwithstanding) and we soon found ourselves rousing the students on the third floor of the South Hall dorms. The trail next lead up faculty hill and we were confident that the trail would divert to a house or a parked car or something. But instead, the trail continued, straight out into the weeds and south along the dike. We stopped at Spring street to catch our breath and followed the trail down the street to the BN. Virtual Clinton committed a major down-down by missing the BN not once but twice. But, as fate would have it, that was a minor transgression compared to what was in store.
The co-hare, Papa Don't Preach was waiting for us. The BN was located at the home of the lead hare, Father Snowball. He made all the arrangements, got the beer, got the chips, made some queso, it was going to be great. The one thing that he forgot was to bring the key to the door. So he had taken off, to try to locate a roommate with a key and left Papa empty-handed to greet us. The hounds were OK for the moment, we were still blowing off steam, but Papa was already half frozen. It didn't help that Father Snowball's dogs were barking at everything that moved, so he had to keep still till we arrived.
After a few minutes wait, we left a message for Father Snowball (I can't recall it word for word, but it did express our opinion most strongly) and headed back to the brewery, where the air was warm and the beer was available. Once inside, in fact, the air was stifling. We quickly stripped down as far as the law would allow and ordered something that would cool us off. By the time Father Snowball found us, we were almost ready to forgive him. Not quite, but almost. In the end, we did end up back at his place and the queso was quite good, so we forgave him anyway.