Saturday Night 80’s Party

After another Saturday football loss, everyone was quickly looking forward to the night ahead on campus. It was just any night either, it was a special party, dedicated to a favourite decade of many, the eighties.

Around campus, everyone was wearing old school 80’s clothing. Many of the guys wearing fake mullets, something Mark had passed on because his wig was too itchy.

Mark did however try to dress for the occasion, wearing some classic denim blue jeans and an oversized fluro purple jacket that he picked up cheap from an op-shop during the week.

He made his way through the courtyards towards South Wing. Mark had a good feeling about heading there, hoping to play a couple of games of beer pong and inflate his ego a little more.

Entering South Wing, he saw some familiar faces almost immediately. One person that he expected to see was Macca who was coming off the dance floor with a ripped shirt that had beer or some other alcoholic drink spilled all over it.

As usual, the Australian exchange student looked to be drunk out of his mind.

“Jesus, what happened to you,” Mark asked, noticing the rip in his shirt.

He shook his head as he stopped in front of Mark, “One of those fuckwits from the football team, your fucking team mate.”

“Who??” Mark asked, worried it may be Dixon in here.

“That Marotta cunt,” Macca told him, “Pretty boy that doesn’t mind cutting a man’s lunch.”

“Cutting lunch?” Mark asked confused.

“Yeah, trying to steal the chick I was working on,” he said annoyed, “The fucker tried to step in and things turned nasty, not easy to win a fight when he has his stupid boys with him to back him up.”

“It’s alright, I think he’s a tool anyway, same with half of them,” Mark said honestly.

“Well he’s your fucking teammate so sort those cunts out already,” he said before storming away.

It wasn’t normal to see someone like Macca get so heated over a clash of personalities. It said a lot about some of the guys on the football team that even the Aussie exchange student was getting sick of him.

As bad as Derek Marotta could be, he was sure an improvement on Dixon. He tried to ignore it, put it out of his mind as he went upstairs in South Wing.