I wore a thong on my face and asked people to help me
It went surprisingly well
Warwick has been hit with some rough news of late. From neo-Nazis invading campus to the shockingly high death rate, one may be forgiven for thinking that Warwick is a pretty depressing place to live.
Keen to show off the flame of kindness that burns bright within the majority of Warwick students I set out on a modest quest. I asked strangers for small favours to gauge how likely a Warwick student is to do what you ask, while you’re wearing women’s underwear on your head.
As a rule I have no predilection for wearing clothes of the opposite sex (aside from particularly big nights out).
But if over a million people are interested in reading about one girl’s valiant week without a bra, surely they’d be willing to help a poor soul with a thong in his afro.
I decided my first favour should be asked in the Warwick library.
Conveniently filled with a number of students who would likely take kindly to any distraction from mind-numbing boredom, I approached a tall, although far from intimidating second year Politics student Josh.
I thought I’d start with an unreasonable request. “Mate, I don’t suppose you’d let me have your seat?”
Despite not feeling more of a tit with a thong hanging limply from my ear, to my shock, Josh did not tell me, as I probably would have done, to fuck off.
Instead, while looking bemused, he walked with me around the library until he found me a seat. He left his Facebook logged in and everything.
With a spring in my step I left the library, so heartened by this little display of kindness that I didn’t realise I still had the thong attached to my ear.
The stares and barely muted whispers quickly put an end to that, and with burning cheeks I ripped the offending garment from my face and stuffed it quickly into my bag.
Not to put too fine a point on it, I looked like a massive pervert.
Next, I went to the Student Union to play a couple of games of pool, where I saw my next opportunity. I was far from pleased with the quality of my cue (at least that’s where I’ll apportion the blame for losing) and so went up to another pool playing student.
While wearing the thong as a mask, I asked Bobby if I could use his cue instead.
He looked, to be frank, fucking terrified. He quietly handed over his cue, and was visibly relieved when I told him I don’t normally dress in such a manner. He was a nice guy, and I was on 2:2. Two students who went above and beyond the call of duty in the day to day service of humanity.
In my deeply unscientific experiment, I had proved that Warwick students are incredibly nice.
However, I felt I needed a comparison to see if being kind is universal to the West-Midlands, and so, thong gripped in one hand, a bottle of Lambrella in the other, I headed to local nightclub Smack on locals night.
Buoyed up by a combination of sugary alcohol and my unshakable confidence in the excuse “Oh, sorry, I have to do it for the Tab”, I headed over to a girl at the bar.
Sounding more than a little creepy in hindsight, I turned to her and asked, with what I hoped was my sweetest smile: “Don’t suppose you’d mind getting me a drink?”
It turned out her boyfriend, who, in my naïve stupor I hadn’t noticed, did mind. In fact he minded very fucking much. As his fist connected firmly with my face, knocking the underwear from my head, I realised that I was, in fact, a moron.
Now I do not want to tar all Leamington locals with the same brush, as the vast majority are lovely people, and so I’ll leave with just this message:
If you want to be an idiot, do it on campus. My black eye implores you.