In the wee hours of Sunday morning, Adam Olson vowed never to drink again — and he actually meant it.
It was after 4 a.m. and nine Guinnesses when Olson, a junior in kinesiology and first-time drinker, made the fateful decision.
“Never, never, never, never, never again,” whispered Olson, a lightweight, while he hugged the base of a toilet. “Drinking makes my head feel like poo,” he added between declarations of love for his onlooking roommates.
The pounding in Olson’s skull could probably be attributed to these “friends” as well as to 144 ounces of Irish stout — most of which he spilled on the woman unfortunate enough to take the stool next to his.
Two of his roomies, Shane Kramer and Chris Selleck, periodically kicked Olson to assure his breathing and heart rate remained consistent, they said.
“Get up, you wimp,” they joked, then stomped.
Kramer and Selleck, who don’t attend the University but occasionally drive nearby, said they believe Olson’s promise to stay away from “that hateful, wicked drink.”
“Can you repeat the question?” asked Kramer as he prepared to lay in the bathtub with his blanky. He had been out with Olson that evening. “Can you get me a glass of water?”
Selleck was more contemplative about Olson’s new way of life.
“Get that tape recorder out of my face, asshole,” he said in an exclusive interview in his kitchen that morning. “He told me it was the best night of his life,” Selleck added, then added again. “Of course, that was before bartime and him seeing his ex. … Where did I leave my bike?”
The anonymous woman in Olson’s room would not comment on anything. She asked for a ride to Dinkytown.
“Can I have a ride home?” she asked Olson.
“Who are you?” he asked just before falling asleep on the dining-room table. “This table cloth is warm.”
“Go to hell,” she said.
“You spilled beer all over me,” she added after seeing what a wreck she was in a mirror. “I’m gonna get you kicked out of school. You know my dad is the director of the mortuary science program. You better buy me breakfast.”
The following afternoon, when Olson’s crusted-over eyes cracked open, he remained steadfast in his claim.
“No I don’t want to drive to Wisconsin with you to buy beer,” he said while still on the dining-room table. “And stop trying to eat dinner here.”
But some question his resolve.
At press time, sources close to Olson report there may have been a relapse during a barbecue Sunday night — and one lacking any sense of civilized taste. He was spotted drinking a Bud Light.
“That is absolutely untrue,” Olson said while chewing a large wad of gum and keeping his distance. “Back off, man.”
But a Daily photographer, who was tailing Olson, caught him with what appeared to be an ice cold, brewed with barley, hops and spring water, alcohol-type beverage.
“If you print that photo, I’ll sue all your asses,” Olson said. “Don’t make me open a can of whoop-ass,” he added, making what could be construed as either a reference to “beer” cans or beating someone up.