I am not a doctor, nor am I trained in any form of medicine. However, I do know enough to self diagnose myself with a rare disease known as “The ugly girl syndrome”. I don’t know how many people are affected by this disease, nor do I know if there is a cure (besides banishing all bars where a possible ugly may exist.)

The disease is quite simple. It starts out with a male who travels to a bar alone, or with a group of friends. Our subject begins drinking and eventually you spot a girl from across the bar who he feels is perfect, and dreams about taking her home to meet his mother.

Our subject walks over, maybe asks to bum a cigarette, and buys her a drink. Our subject is now lost, and has entered the point of no return. He is lost in the drinks he has consumed, and he cant remember what questions he has asked her since he first sat down. Another round of drinks is ordered and some tacky mid 90’s song comes on that the girl loves. So they dance. It is at this point that the syndrome is at the highest point, because our subject informs the lady that he lives only a few blocks away and that they should vacate the bar.

I speak about the syndrome because I am one of the worst sufferers. I don’t know what has been programmed in my brain to where I only flock to the section of uglies at the bar. It doesn’t even make sense to me, because I love beautiful women. One of my close friends has said its an “efficiency” solution, which is crazy to me, but it makes sense. (the efficiency comment is made because ugly women will never turn you down, meaning you are always at 100%.)

Just last night I was in the UGS trance dancing with a girl who reminded me of Medusa (snakey hair, weird eyebrows, terrible clothes, etc). I swear, I knew what I was doing, I knew where it was leading, but I kept on dancing, kept on making conversation and all of the sudden the make out session began. I could see my friends who were 5 feet away, laughing and pointing at me (great feeling, I swear). I came home later that night to join the debate of who was uglier, the girl I was dancing with (my girl won the gold medal), or the girl currently asleep with my roommate. I could only imagine what the girl who was spending the night would be thinking if she woke up. What am I doing with my life?

A few months ago I have flocked to a girl who was wearing a backless shirt who needed to be in football uniform or a moo moo. Seriously, her back was seeping mounds of flesh and she was flaunting it. It was so bad at one point that my friends were gathered behind me taking pictures of her and laughing. Then other people at the bar starting taking pictures. Seriously, picture that; Flashes going off on a bar patio and people laughing. Terrible. It was like the paparazzi was taking advantage of my medical condition. I think she may have been missing a tooth as well.

You see the problem with the UGS is that the male is never in control. He knows what is going on, but cannot stop it. The force is far too powerful. Its like being under the influence of anesthesia, and being conscience of what is happening, but not having the ability to speak.

I know it may be odd to make this request, but with all the awareness ribbons out there, which color would you use for this?

-sinbad

It was the end of freshman year of college, and like many freshman, I was looking for a summertime job. A friend of mine had recommended that I look to take a late night shit with a well known, global, mail-carrying service as a worker on the loading dock. It seemed like an easy way to work a couple hours per day and make a decent salary, so I agreed.

My pal set me up with an interview time and the employer asked that I be there at 11pm on Sunday evening, as this was the shift that I would be working. That particular Sunday was the same day one of my good friends was moving away from our college town. He asked that all of his friends come over to celebrate by drinking beers and watching a NASCAR race at his house. This seemed innocent enough. I figured I would go over there, have a drink or two, then when all was said and done head over to my job interview. But as we all know, college-aged men don’t just have one or two. My one or two turned into three and ended somewhere near…well too many. To my amazement, I take a look at my watch and see that it is well past time to stop drinking before I head to my upcoming job interview. A rational man would just cancel the interview, but not this man.

On my way over to the interview I am thinking of ways to sober up; no time for a nap or some greasy food, so gum will have to do. As I arrive to the loading docks and the watchman points me in the right direction I’m thinking to myself, I don’t know how I got myself into this situation. I end up seated with the supervisor and charming her with some of my good ol’ boy stories and have her eating out of the palm of my hand. Who knows maybe she was an alcoholic and didn’t even notice the stench?

The information and interview portion is over and now it is time to take a tour of the warehouse. That seems simple enough, right? The tour is long and seems to just go around and around. This is a problem. What can someone who’s been drinking not do? Go very long without having to use the bathroom.

As I walk around the warehouse with the ten or so people in my group I start to get desperate. Looking back, I probably could have just asked someone to use the bathroom, but that logic doesn’t fly when you’re inebriated. I clumsily made my way to the back of the group, and once I had a little distance, I began to urinate in the middle of the loading dock floor. To this day, I have no idea how none of the workers loading trucks all around me didn’t say anything to me, or no one from my group simply turned around and pointed me out. As I finished up my business, I zipped up and ran away from the mess that I had made. I snuck back into the rear portion of my group and finished the tour.

The greatest part of the story is that I was later offered a position as a late-shift worker by the company.

-Costanza