As the year comes to an end, it’s important we reflect on the good, the bad, and the chaotically funny stories we’ve kept hidden away in our memories.
Here are some of my most favourite unhinged stories from this year.
I had an interesting run-in with the consequences of my own actions involving a pub downtown, a stolen painting, and the concentrated outrage of the Kingston populace.
I’ve been trying to find ways to memorialize my time in this town. At the end of a particularly memorable evening with a friend, the painting above our table was looking a bit too much like a souvenir. I felt some remorse when I realized it was an original—admittedly, not enough to return it.
In the morning, I was at a coffee shop when a friend showed me a video of what was very clearly security footage of me taking this painting off the wall with a request for its return.
Turns out it was the painting: a beloved artifact depicting the front of the establishment from days of yore. I returned it immediately with a sincerely apologetic, anonymous letter.
When I got home, I began to understand there was a manhunt going on. The security video had circulated to 18,000 views in a couple of hours, it had appeared on YGK News, and there was a printout of the picture on my door, saying ominously: “WE KNOW WHAT YOU DID.”
Instagram comments called for my public whipping and theorized my nefarious intentions and origins, ranging from me being an ex-con to an RMC student as I became the receptacle for repressed townie rage.
Graciously, the establishment took down any media involving the manhunt within the day and replaced it with the painting’s return, to the applause of the Kingston comments section. I was naturally mortified, but relieved that most interactions with students in the following weeks concerning it were humorous more than anything.
I’m not defending my actions; I’m very thankful to the establishment for letting this be a learning experience, embarrassing story, and nothing else.
I don’t have any souvenirs, but I’ll always remember being Kingston’s most wanted for a day.
—Anonymous, ArtSci ’23
I don’t think anyone particularly enjoys dating, and I’m no exception.
Last semester, I went on a particularly memorable first date. I put on my best jeans and one of my favourite white shirts—take note of the shirt colour.
We went to dinner, ordered drinks, and chatted. My drink was halfway done when I started to feel something dripping from my nose. I realized I was having a nosebleed. I ran to the bathroom and tried to stop it, but no matter what I did it wouldn’t.
At this point I had blood all over my white shirt, my hands, etcetera. I looked like I was in a horror movie. I finally got it to stop, but by then I was embarrassed and lightheaded, so I told my date I was going home.
He walked me home and once we got to my front door—despite me looking like the bride of Frankenstein—he goes in for the kiss. I wasn’t prepared for a kiss nor the excessive amount of tongue that came with it. I broke off the kiss, politely said goodnight, and went into my house.
Needless to say, there was no second date.
—Claire Schaffeler, Social Media Coordinator
It’s hot and humid down at the Kingston pier and I’m sitting on a beach towel after being dragged to drink coolers and watch people throw a football around. We’re waiting for our friend to finish work and meet us when it begins to pour, and everyone scatters like ants.
I rush over to my housemate, and she’s surrounded by three guys. We go through the introductions, and I don’t take in any of their names, assuming I’ll never see them again. I can tell they’re older than us by a few years, later finding out they’ve just graduated from their Master’s.
The blonde one asks us if we want to wait for our friend in his car because he drove, and we happily take them up on their offer. We just met these random men, they’re definitely old and could kidnap us, but it’s summer and summer is all about saying yes. So, that’s what we did.
After showing us their four-foot-tall collection of Greek yogurt containers (as gym rat men do) sharing most embarrassing first date stories (one guy pooped his pants), I got restless and suggested throwing the football around on the patio.
I guess I wasn’t thinking about the logistics because suddenly I was getting linebacker tackled to concrete floor, bruising my shoulder, and upon leaving, learning my housemate forgot her bag at their apartment.
While chaotic and risky, it was a night to remember and, to this day, I still see them whenever they come back to visit Kingston.
—Suzy Leinster, Features Editor
Embarrassing, Funny, Story time, Student life
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