I know I already talked about a similar experience at Yale, but did I ever tell you about the time I went to Harvard and this one girl decided to go pee right next to me as I was sketching?
It started at The Game, of course, as there is no reason anyone would want to go to Harvard otherwise. I spent all day incognito, hiding from anyone who might recognize me bundled up in Yale hat and sweater and masked in layers of scarf, meanwhile I sketched scenes of socs schmoozing. The tailgate was pretty aight, in that the food was great. I loaded up on burgers and cookies and chocolate hot water. I felt torn because I wanted to go up to talk to people, but, well, y'know.
I couldn't afford tickets to The Game, so I just sat outside of the stadium sketching up the joint. My cover got blown as a JE '10 guy spotted me and insisted on the whole human interaction thing. Total emo buzzkill. So after he scoots off, and I stop wondering why I can't be more like him, I get back to sketching the stadium grounds from my solitary perch atop an empty staircase facing the busy scene.
Out of the corner of my eye I see a gaggle of Game-goers gathering on the ground floor. This one girl among them seems to be in a serious pickle, based on her antsy body language. She's consulting with the group, and they're all anxiously whipping their heads around, scoping out either a location or for a clear coast. It sinks in. She needs to pee. Bad. As she's frantically weighing her options for where to execute Order Sixty-Sick as privately as possible, she keeps looking in my direction.
So she bolts over to the left of the staircase where I'm drawing and jumps into a squat in the patch of bushes in my quiet corner of the campus. I'm sketching and sketching, hoping she goes away and that she's just joking around, but then I hear a trickling. A TRICKLING! I throw up a little in my mouth, chug it back down, and keep drawing the stadium like my insecurity depends on it. THE END.
To help cleanse the palate, these last few drawings are from after I left the staircase to explore Harvard's version of Old Campus. There was a girl wearing an incredible jacket that reaffirmed that females have cornered the market on aesthetics, a building called Matthews Hall, and what I believe is Prescott Street.
Despite the urinous sidequest, I'd say Harvard was pretty good games. Loved the architecture, loved Leverett House, loved seeing healthy Boston Terriers out and about while mine was painfully dying back home, loved feeling like a lonely Yalie again. Or something.