This is the infamous story you may or may not have heard about. Personally, I don't find it too terribly surprising because I assumed this kind of thing happens all the time. After a brief polling of my peers, however, I've learned that's apparantly not the case. That makes me feel even more creeped out. I've changed the name of "the guy" in this story because - as it turns out - he's actually a really cool guy, and I don't want to cause him any more grief than he's caused himself. Enjoy.

It's Saturday morning, 8 February, shortly after 5AM.

I wake up. I find it odd to be waking up because I'd only been asleep for a few hours and there was no noticable cause for my wakeage. In any case, I wake up and find my room mate, Alan, standing in the middle of the room. His head is kind of lulled forward and his shoulders are sagging like he's barely conscious. He stands still for a rather long time, leading me to believe he's sleepwalking (or sleepstanding. He wasn't walking anywhere, really).

All of the sudden, he sits down on my bed and tries to get underneath my covers. Sleepwalking or not, I wasn't going to stand for that, so I kicked him out of the bed. He slipped off the edge, and stood back up in that weird stance of his. Without any hesitation, he again sits on my bed and begins trying to climb under the covers. Naturally, I just kicked him off again.

This process continued one more time before I finally sat up and decided to wake him proper. I don't care what people say about waking sleepwalkers, this fool was getting conscious. I sit up and start shaking him. "Alan. Alan, wake..."

It was at this point that I happened to look over at Alan's bed...

...and saw him still lying in it.

I let go of this guy's shoulders and hit the side lamp while he climbs into the bed. This total stranger is getting into my bed. This total stranger is stealing my covers and stealing my pillow and totally freaking me out.

Apparantly, we forgot to lock the door, and this gentleman was grossly intoxicated.

"Hey! Hey!" I say, pushing at him. "You're in the wrong room!" At this point, I'm hoping to appeal to some inebriated logic. Even drunks can be convinced that they shouldn't sleep in another guy's bed when he's still in it. The guy looks around the room, nodding his head.

"Yeah," he tells me. Then he pulls up the sheets and lays back down.

Alright, so the guy's not budging. My best guess is that he left his room for the bathroom, then afterward stumbled around the hall trying all the handles until he found an unlocked one. How many nights had I been spared this crisis by simply remembering to lock the door? There's no telling.

About this time, the guy decides I'm taking up too much room in my own bed and physically pushes me back against the wall so he can get comfy. Now, I'm tolerant to a point, and this gentleman has long crossed said point. So I crawl off the foot of the bed and throw on a bit of clothing (Which is significantly more than he was wearing, by the way), and head down the hall to find RA Steven.

My knocking on his door didn't wake him, so I went back to the room to formulate a new plan. The stranger is in my bed, snoring soundly with the lamp still on, and Alan has been asleep the entire time. Not wanting to leave the two of them alone and unconscious together, I decide to wake Alan up while I go downstairs to talk to whoever is manning the front desk at this unearthly hour.

I have no idea what to say, because I'm quite literally speechless by the entire ordeal. As Alan wakes up, the only thing I can do to express my concern is point at my bed. I takes him a few moments, but Alan finally realizes that I'm standing there while some complete stranger snoozes in my place.

"Who..."

"I have no idea. He just...got into my bed..."

"Whhhhat?" (If you know Alan, you know that "Whhhhat." That's how you can imagine how serious the shock was).

"I'm going to go talk to the desk person."

At which point I did just that. If you've never lived in a dorm, or if you have and you've never been down to your front desk late at night, let me explain a little about the red eye desk jockey. They're paid very little money to sit at a desk in a college dorm hall making sure the weird crap is taken care of in the middle of the night. Let me highlight that a little bit. They work late nights in a dorm hall, interacting only with drunks/crackheads/freak shows for very little coin.

Yes, I'd love to have their job, too, but that's my point. They're an odd ilk.

So I go down and tell the gentleman my situation, at which point he begins laughing. He pauses for a second and clears his throat, looking around for the proper phone numbers.

"Sorry, that's not funny."

"Oh, no, it's hilarious," I remind him. "I just won't think so until tomorrow."

He chuckles some more and gets RA Steven on the phone. I head back up to Floor 7 and meet him there to explain the situation. We return to my room, and the guy's still fast asleep in my bed. RA Steven recognizes him and tries to wake him up.

"Bob. Bob. Bob, get up." (Alright, so that's not the most original name. You want to tell this story? I didn't think so.)

Bob begins to stir, and sits up. Getting into bed with another guy apparantly wasn't too odd, but being awoken by that guy and your RA is.

"Bob, do you know where you are?"

Bob considers. "You're Steven." Well, at least he can identify people. Room numbers he can't manage, but people he can.

"Yes, I'm Steven. You're in the wrong room."

"You're still Steven."

Man, I couldn't argue with that kind of logic. This guy can have my bed if he can make an arguement like that this time of morning.

"Yes, I'm Steven, but you're in the wrong room. You need to go back to your room."

Bob continues to tell our RA that he's Steven, so the room problem has still failed to register. Steven finally manages to break through to him.

"Why are you in this guy's bed, Bob?"

"It fits better."

"They're all the same size."

"They're all the same size?"

"Yeah, they're all the same size."

"I'll take this one."

He then begins to try and flip off my lamp, but can't seem to work the switch. You might think I made up that last bit of conversation because it sounds too scripted. Scout's honor, that's exactly what he said. I'm sober and he's convinced me. I was ready to bed down on the floor.

Steven persists, and finally gets the guy up and moving. As they're leaving the room, I notice my Led Zepplin shirt on the end of the bed, and immediately realize there's going to be trouble. Bob reaches down and grabs it on his way out.

I can't win with this man.

Steven gets him down the hallway and into his room (Which is actually just diagonally down the hall from ours. I've never seen this guy before, and he lives right down the hall). I step out and try to bargain for my shirt.

"When he's distracted or something, can you get my Led Zepplin shirt back for me?"

"Yeah, I'll get it." Steven turns and looks into the room. I don't know what's going on, but I don't like the look on his face. "I'll get it to you in the morning."

Some time later, someone knocks on the door. I get up and Steven's there with the hall director and my shirt. I'm glad, because I rather like that shirt and kind of worried I wouldn't get it back in the best of conditions. I thank them, and the hall director tells me to call downstairs if I happen to hear him wandering around again so they can get the police.

Well, a few days later Bob drops by. He says he received some sort of harassment notice for what happened, and wanted to come by and apologize. Turns out, he doesn't remember any of it. I'm not too surprised given the state he was in. I tell him it's no big deal, even though it really, really was.

It really, really was.