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Here Are The Best Underage Stories You Submitted
PSU news by
Penn State's student blog
Last week, we asked for your best stories from getting cited with underage drinking , and you did not let us down. We received dozens of stories, including some from alumni, ranging from sad coincidences that landed students in trouble, to raucous nights that clearly went awry. We picked our favorites, and we are happy to be able to share them with you.
I don’t know how I got there, but I was woken up by the University Park Police as I was sitting in the second row of 100 Thomas. The best part was that I had gone back to Pennypacker to get my backpack and class materials.
The real question here is, did you get attendance points?
I was tailgating two years ago at the UMass game. I only had a few drinks because others had told me stories about how many cops are out during football games. As the morning turned to afternoon, I still hadn’t seen a cop so I decided to grab a beer. I had no problems, finished a few beers, and after, my friends and I were about to walk to the stadium. On our way over, my friend had a beer in her hand and she saw a puppy, so she gave the beer to me. Within 30 seconds I heard “can I see your ID,” and almost died inside. I tried to explain to the cop that it was my friend’s beer (who was 21) and that she was having me hold it while she was petting a puppy. My friend tried pleading to the cop as well, but long story short, I received an underage, and was told by the cop that if I want to lie to get out of something, I need to come up with a more believable story. As he walked away he stepped in a pile of crap the puppy left behind.
Was the poop there on purpose as some cool form of pet justice? Probably not. Am I going to believe that anyway? Absolutely.
It was late August 2003 and my parents had dropped me off as a freshman two days prior. We were out drinking Carlo Rossi jug wine with an older friend of mine from home who was in a frat. As we stopped at College Pizza for my first late night drunken slice as a 17-year old college student, I realized I really had to use the bathroom. Seeing how long the line was, I decided to take some back stairwell up to what I thought was the safety of the back of the building. Without a care in the world, I unleash the contents of my bladder on the side of the building (which I now realize is just an empty lot that opens up right onto Locust). I turned around when I was all finished and there were two cop cars boxing me in. I did not realize the gravity of the situation, or the seriousness with which the State College Police took underage drinking/public urination, until the cops called my parents at 3:30 a.m. since I was only 17. I still have the summons stowed away for safe keeping — and my family still makes public urination jokes to this day. God bless that town.
I guess you could say he really “pissed” off the police.
I went home for the weekend and came back Saturday night to go to this big party. I got back to State College around 10:30 and realized I needed to catch up before I went to the party so I took three shots (background info: I’m a lightweight who used to black out at four shots). When I finally got to the party, my friend made the whole party all take three shots together. That’s when the night got blurry. I know I had some more jungle juice and then the next thing I know, I wake up in the hospital. I woke up in a hospital bed, naked, with an IV in my arm. I was still completely hammered and had no idea what was going on. I thought the fact that I was in the hospital was the funniest thing ever and the thought of an underage didn’t even cross my mind. I took a cab ride home and later received a call from the campus police. I had to go down to the station and the cop told me all about my night. Apparently I was wandering around near Blue Course Drive and ended up hanging out in some field. The cop saw me and asked me where I lived and I told him West Halls (even though I lived off-campus) so he graciously took me there. When we got to West he asked me where we were and I responded “in the middle of Pugh Street” and then he called an ambulance for me. With a BAC of 0.28 it’s really great I survived with only an underage and more than $1000 in fees.
The saddest part of this, for me at least, is that all this person had to do to avoid an underage was know his/her own address. So close, yet so far.
I was walking back after a night of getting totally wasted at the frats on campus, when this a**hole cop wrote me up for no reason. At least that’s what I thought. As it turns out, I had stopped a traffic cop, stolen his vest and baton, and was directing traffic in the middle of College Ave at 2 a.m. There was an underage and a ticket that said ‘directing traffic while intoxicated.’
And they say college doesn’t adequately prepare you for your future job.
1) Got absolutely sloshed at my fraternity before the Ohio State football game in 2014.
2) Left the house around noon to go to my parents’ tailgate.
3) Kept slamming fireball until about 1 p.m.
4) Apparently, I went to the porta potty to let my innards loose and a cop saw me and approached me to make sure everything was alright.
5) I told him I was “f***** fine” and stumbled away.
6) He came back with his assistant cops and they cuffed my sorry ass.
7) Parents hated me for about two months because I threw up on Grandma Josephine apparently when she told me I needed to take a nap.
8) Here we are today!!
Freshman year I had a biology lab and my friends wanted to drink after. It was a Tuesday, but I was trying to live college to the fullest. I went from my lab to drink with my friends, and the next thing I remember is waking up in the hospital with my brother and roommate by my side. I was unconscious for about seven hours. I later found out I was hypoglycemic and my body was shutting down because I didn’t eat. An officer gave me an underage when the ambulance was called. My mom thought I had a drinking problem for a while because this all happened on a Tuesday, but I learned my lesson. Now I always eat before drinking because I never want to wake up in a diaper again.
There are so many bad jokes I could make about the irony of having a medical condition you don’t know about, and only finding out because of non-biology related events after a biology class, but I can’t seem to find the right one.
Early freshman year, I made it all the way from the frats to East by myself, very drunk. I got so excited that I navigated my way home that I physically jumped for joy, straight into a stop sign. As in, I literally smacked my head into a stop sign and fell down directly next to a cop. Ninety days later, with my license ban coming to a close, my friends threw me somewhat of a mocking “congrats you can drive again, you moron” party. That night I stole a bike from a frat and got pulled over by a cop. You guessed it. BUI.
This person may have been just a bit too excited to drive again.
This underage is a two-part story here. It was LEAP 2014; I had just come home from a picnic hosted by my local Alumni Association and I returned to Penn State with a trunk full of enough liquor for me and my 10 buddies. That night I mixed 100 proof Mr. Boston straight into one gallon of Hawaiian Punch, had a few drinks, and the next thing I remember, I’m at a party, though I don’t know what party. I don’t know how long we were there but then we were sitting at Canyon and I was begging my friends to get me water; they gave me raspberry tea and my nausea increased exponentially. We’re walking back to our dorm rooms now on Beaver Ave., and I start throwing up in the bushes at Cedarbrook just as a cop drives by. The cop then goes in reverse and he’s pushing me into the curb. His partner and he decide that if I can stop throwing up, they’ll let me go back to campus with my friends without getting an underage. I keep drinking my water, and keep throwing up, so they call an ambulance and do a breathalyzer test — I blew a 0.156. They end up sending me back to my friends dorm where I had to sleep (P.S. Reid, I pissed myself on your blanket but Mark threw it in the wash so you wouldn’t know).
Fast forward two weeks. My desire to drink and go out has returned. My buddy Mark and I break out the bottle we had been looking forward to since I bought the liquor — Everclear. I have no idea how much I drank, but I ended up crying at one point during the pre-game. Mark and I go to the Collegian because we knew of a kid who had a sweet setup and we had friends there all the time. We walked out the door, and I blacked out. (The rest of this story is what Mark told me the next day). Mark and I got to the party and I continued to drink and whenever someone tried to talk to me I found it necessary to finish my entire cup before I could speak to them. I then proposed to Mark (neither of us are gay) and when he said no I threw a freaking tantrum in the middle of the dance floor, like a 3-year-old, so they kicked us out. Mark took me across the street to a parking garage where I started throwing up and wouldn’t stop. He called the rest of my buddies and they decided to call an ambulance. The cops show up and it’s THE SAME FUCKING COPS FROM MY FIRST GOD DAMN UNDERAGE TWO WEEKS AGO. They stepped out of the car, looked at me, and the first words that came out of one of their mouths were, “not this douchebag again.” They’re flipping through my wallet trying to find my ID; passed my student ID, learners permit, junior license, fake ID, motorcycle permit, regular license (luckily, through their confusion I still have that fake ID). I wake up the next morning in the hospital with buttons and wires connected to me, I’m stark nude and there’s a tube taped to my foot because I stopped breathing in the night. I had a 0.251 when I came in.
All I want is for Mark and Reid, whomever they may be, to see this story.
On Friday night of Halloweekend, I accidentally drank an entire fifth of tequila by myself in about 45 minutes. I then proceeded to run to the nearby white loop stop, throw up everywhere, and have the police called on me. I woke up in the hospital at 8 a.m. the next morning confused as hell, then made a friend in the same hospital room as me who had apparently shit her pants the night before because she was so drunk. When we were released we were still drunk, so I was singing and dancing in the hospital lobby while waiting for the taxi to take us back to our dorms. When it arrived, we went outside (in our oversized scrubs and diapers the hospital put us in) and I puked all over the hospital driveway and left. Once I got back to my dorm room, I saw the empty bottle of tequila on my desk and puked again. According to the detective who later met with me, I had to be hauled into an ambulance by five people because I was trying to run away screaming, “I am MEGAN!” When I got into the ambulance, however, I projectile vomited in the ambulance the whole way to Mount Nittany Medical Center, so much so that I got it on the roof of the ambulance, all the walls, and drenched one of the EMTs in my puke. I ultimately put the ambulance out of service because I had left it in such disarray. At this point in hearing about what I had done, the detective took off his glasses, looked at me sternly, and said, “Young lady, in all my years here at this university, I have NEVER seen someone put an ambulance out of service for the amount of puke that was in the back of that ambulance.” Later on, when I went to my court hearing for the underage that I got, I was unaware of how serious this hearing was and showed up in jeans and a sweatshirt while every other person with an underage was in a suit. We then went in as a group, and the judge read all of our stories out loud to the group. Of course, mine was last. He started with, “BAC .28…,” and then took a look at me, which did not lead to a good outcome. The best part of the story, however, is that I did all of this dressed up as Louise from Bob’s Burgers: green t-shirt dress and pinky bunny ear hat included. So the real lesson here is never dress as Louise for Halloween — her spirit is just too much to handle.
I don’t really watch Bob’s Burgers, but now, for some strange reason, I kind of want to.
is a senior Supply Chain Management major with an Economics minor (Read: Business Douche) from South Jersey. He has an intense fear of graduating so please don't bring it up. He writes about stupid things nobody cares about, and student life if the site is low on content that is clearly supposed be funny but is really very unfunny. He is lovingly (?) known around the staff as Baby Mike which may or may not be because he has a child (hint: it’s not). He’s also a second generation Penn Stater who has been wearing Penn State sweatshirts since before he was two, a habit he hasn’t grown out of. If you really hate yourself, you can follow him on twitter at @mike_reisman or email him at mikereisman@onwardstate.com
Seriously, whatever you’re doing, make sure you’re having fun.
The terms of the contract have not been released.
The terms of the contract have not been released.
“That broken ear is a permanent reminder of the dark side of Penn State University, the lives lost, and a warning. A warning that the deaths will continue unless massive change is enacted.”
In a statement sent to Onward State, Julia Cipparulo claimed to have vandalized several Penn State campus landmarks, including the Lion Shrine, on May 8.
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Best Friends/Worst Enemies:
Understanding the Social Lives of Our Children,
By Michael G. Thompson, Ph.D.and Catherine O'Neill Grace
In a Different Voice, by Carol Gilligan
The Blessing of a Skinned Knee, by Wendy Mogel
Raising Lifelong Learners: A Parent's Guide by Lucy McCormick Calkins
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Once there were three little girls, Kathy, Lilly and Susan. They were all new to my school in the seventh grade and had come from different schools. But in eighth grade, when they were together, they turned themselves into a gang that was mean to other kids with increasing frequency and ferocity. Teachers knew it was happening, but the girls were clever and slippery. We could rarely catch them in a teachable moment or a punishable act. The most we could do was talk to them. As you can imagine, that didn’t change anything.
One afternoon, at the bus stop across the street from school they approached Johnny, a sixth grader who wasn’t so good with other people. He walked with his head down looking at his feet with his shoulders pulled over him like a turtle shell. Sitting there on the bench he must have been slouched like a turtle with its arms and legs in.
By all accounts, including one from a teacher who watched the episode from the other side of the avenue, the girls approached the bench, told Johnny to get up because they wanted to sit on the bench. Johnny did. They mocked him for a while and then, as the humiliations built to a crescendo, one of the girls threw her half-finished smoothie. It hit him in the chest and spilled banana-strawberry slush all down his front.
The next morning, I talked with the students, one at a time, in my office. Even though each of the girls had her own version, each minimizing her role in the affair, none of them took responsibility for the incident. I told them this was serious and that I still had to consider what I would do about it and sent them back to class. Then, I talked with Johnny whose story corroborated the teacher’s report, though in his humiliation he was not enthusiastic to talk about it.
I called Johnny’s home and got his mother on the phone. “I am glad you called me,” she said. “Johnny told me all about it. The stuff was all over him. I was going to call you.”
I told her that I would check in with Johnny and make sure he knows that I will keep him safe here.
I talked to the girls’ mothers and told each of them that I was going to suspend her daughter. That meant they needed to come to school and pick them up as soon as they could.
I told them I would let their daughters return to school when I knew that things would be different. I explained that when their daughters were ready to convince me that things are going to be different, they should call me to set up an appointment.
Kathy’s mom was horrified, and after asking a few questions to get the facts straight she said: “Thank you. I will call you after I talk with her.”
Lilly’s mother was at work and asked if she could pick Lilly up at the end of the day. I said that that was fine, and that she would wait in my office until she arrived. She was angry, but I couldn’t tell if she was angry with me or her daughter.
Susan’s mother came to her daughter’s defense, and decided that I was overreacting, that this was much too small an offense to merit suspension.
When I told the girls that they would be suspended, they were quiet. None of them tried to defend themselves. The only difference was the look on their faces. Kathy’s turned pale. Lilly looked afraid, but Susan had a confident little smile on her face.
That smile! I had seen that look before on a squirrel. One spring a pair of Mourning Doves built a nest outside the window of my office. I was able to watch their progress: the building of the nest, the starting of a family, and the incubation of the eggs. One day, just as I thought I would soon be witnessing the birth of doves, I saw a squirrel approaching along the ledge outside the window. Immediately I started shouting and banging on the window, trying to be as scary as I could. The squirrel just stared at me, as if to say: “You can’t touch me.” Then he proceeded on to the nest and methodically ate the eggs, as I watched, powerless. Susan was giving me the same look.
Kathy and her parents were at my office at 7:30am the next morning. Kathy sat directly across the table from me and spoke first, looking me straight in the eye. “Mr. Ackerly, I know what I did wrong. Even though I didn’t throw the smoothie myself, I was there and I didn’t say anything. I laughed at what was happening, and I know we made Johnny feel bad. I know I was part of what made him feel bad. I feel bad about it, and I want to come back.”
“Do you think that what you did was harassment?”
Pause. “Well, yes, sort of. I participated in harassment.”
“Yes, you did. Can you think of anything you can do to fix it?” Thoughtful look on her face; pause;
“I can’t really fix it. I can talk to Johnny.”
“I don’t know. I would say I’m sorry, but I know that wouldn’t fix it, and I don’t know what else I could do.”
“Is there anything else you can do?”
Long pause. “I can tell you that I will not harass anyone again.”
She looked down at the tabletop, and then back up into my eyes.
“Kathy, good job. I believe you. I want you to come back.” Then to the parents: “Kathy can come to school today. You have a wonderful daughter here. You should be proud of her.”
“We are,” they said. It was 8:05am.
Lilly’s mom called that morning to say with exasperation and dismay in her voice: “Lilly is not ready to come back, yet.” (I knew she probably had to stay home from work. She was a single working mother.)
Susan’s mom, however, called me mid-morning to tell me how inappropriate my handling of the situation was and to insist that her daughter hadn’t hurt anyone. The next morning,
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