The Tragic Tale of Smiley Rich

During the first weeks of college, most freshmen socialize freely with everyone they meet, mentally taking notes on who is worthy of longer-term friendship down the road. Throughout this initial period, I was repeatedly introduced to “Rich.” Rich was one of everybody’s favorite people because he was remarkably affable (if not slightly awkward in his conversations) and always had a smile plastered on his face revealing his rabbit teeth. I had my reservations; I tend to be wary of anyone who smiles that much, as it is sometimes a sign that they are disingenuous or mentally disabled. Though Rich remained tight with many in my friend circle, earning the nickname “Smiley Rich,” I was content to keep him at friend-of-a-friend status.

Discovering they shared an affinity for video games, Rich and one of my roommates became fairly inseparable a couple of months into school. This friendship was one neither I nor my roommate’s girlfriend enjoyed, as it meant Rich practically lived in our already overcrowded room, tirelessly playing video games, and attempting to engage me in ridiculous conversations wherein he’d try to provoke a pointless argument for the sake of arguing. Rich even argued with a smile, the stupidity of his opinions matching his dumb smirk.

Soon, Rich and my roommate switched habits, upgrading to a marijuana addiction. (Granted, they still played video games sometimes, too, though a little bit slower.) If they only smoked once, that was considered an unproductive day. I made it clear that I didn’t want them doing it in our room, a request they didn’t follow when I wasn’t present, as evidenced by their half-hearted attempts to mask the scent – that, or they traded addictions again, this time to huffing Lysol.

The marijuana inevitably only made Smiley Rich even more smiley, though about that time he was also losing his popular moniker. While engaging in a daily pot-and-video-game regimen, Rich allowed his personal hygiene to deteriorate, becoming a sweaty mess of drugs and body odor. As a result of his new routines, Rich lost most of our mutual friends except for my roommate, and his nickname was permanently altered from “Smiley Rich” to “Smelly Rich.” No fear, Rich maintained his “I-have-no-idea-what’s-going-on” clueless smile.

Then, Rich started selling drugs, a move I wasn’t too judgmental toward since he had managed to find a way to take his main interest in life and make a profit from it. However, I did have a problem when he would hold transactions in my room. Once, I returned to my room to find the door wide open with Rich sitting alone on the floor measuring mushrooms of the magical variety on a tiny scale. Irritated, I asked why he had to do such a thing in my room and not his, and he replied, with a smile, naturally, “I could get caught. This is the sort of thing one ought not do in their own room.” Or with the door open wide, maybe?

Though it was a difficult objective, I made it a point to avoid Rich as much as possible. One night while walking through an adjacent college’s campus, I had a chance encounter with Rich who was clearly hopped up on something and smelling fresh as a daisy – a daisy watered with sewage. On our walk back to our dorm, Rich decided it would be a good idea to steal patio furniture off the porch of this other college’s dormitory. I encouraged Rich to leave it where he found it, but when he didn’t listen, I made it a point to walk significantly faster so I wouldn’t necessarily be associated with the stumbling thief.

While in between the campuses, Rich finally decided he had enough of lugging the oversized chair and dropped it in his tracks. Though I was glad he was no longer electing to steal it, I was concerned because he had left the chair smack in the middle of the road, meaning that, with the poor nighttime visibility, the next car to drive through with undoubtedly crash into it. I instructed Rich to put it back or at least take it out of the road, but Rich let out a loud, obnoxious, “No!” So, being the responsible one, I proceeded to pick it up out of the road and move it to a less dangerous location.

Just then, headlights blinded me and I heard an intimidating voice shout “Hey!” I looked forward, but couldn’t see into the car halted beside me. “You fucking need to put that back where you found it, or we’re going to get out of this car and kick your ass!” I froze in a panic. I was just trying to be helpful, but now I’m going to get beat up for Rich’s dumbassery. “Go!” the voice from the car shouted. “We’re going to follow you, asshole.”

I screamed to Rich to join me and accept some responsibility. He glanced back at me, and said, “This looks to be your problem.” Then, Rich ran as fast as his stoned body could manage, leaving me to suffer the consequences. I can’t recall whether I had even a shred of respect left for Rich up to this point, but I’m sure that if I did, it was entirely gone now.

Shaking with fear, I returned the chair to its rightful spot, then sprinted between buildings to avoid the (perhaps justified) bullies catching me. Once returning home, I confronted an unapologetic Rich, who suggested that if I’d just smoke some weed, I wouldn’t even worry about the incident.

A couple of weeks later, Rich was kicked out college altogether, an astounding feat since the rules at my college were so lenient, I’m pretty sure you could murder a professor and only be put on probation. I know this expulsion wasn’t related to the patio furniture incident since that was never reported and smalltime in the grand scheme of things, but I knew it was something juicy when my roommate seemed too embarrassed to reveal the details. The resounding opinion from the freshmen class was “good riddance.”

Fortunately, I’m currently removed enough from these experiences that while recounting them, I’m, like Rich, “all smiles.”