The RathSkellar

You saw that Cindy was...to be kind...rather buzzed. There was no doubt that she would want to get another drink or two to keep that sense of feeling good. There were only two places that could serve drinks on campus...The Lounge and The Rathskellar or as it was oft referred to The Rat Cellar. Well, you knew at least a dozen other places she could go, but they were "off limits" for the game.

You headed out of Fredrickson Hall and across the street to the student union. Both The Lounge and the RathSkellar were in the student union and both served ****, but that was about all they had in common. The Lounge was like a night club while the RathSkellar was more of a bar. The Lounge oft had live bands that played the latest hits. The RathSkellar had a jukebox that had oldies and classical music in it. The Lounge had a dance floor, the Rat cellar a pool table and a foosball table. Everyone knew about the Lounge, almost no one knew about the Rathskellar. The Lounge had been designed with students in mind. The Rathskellar had been designed with the staff in mind.

You headed down the stairs to the lower basement where the Rathskellar was. For Cindy it had two advantages over the Lounge. First, it was less likely that someone would see her there and let Larry or Anna know. More importantly, at least in her current condition, they didn't card. She didn't have to show her fake ID to get served.

There were only two ways into the Rathskellar. The stairs in the Northeast corner of the Union and the freight elevator. And the freight elevator needed a special key. Even if you went down there, the Rathskellar was not easy to spot. It was dark, only one in three lights were on. The doors were all painted the same lemon yellow that that walls. Each was marked with a small, 3x5 brown sign with white letters. Only the fact that the sign said "RATHSKELLAR" rather than something like "ELECTRICAL" or "STORAGE" let someone know that it was not some utility closet.

Even knowing where you going, you almost missed it. Only the movement of one of the fake mice some grad student programmed to run between the carts that cluttered the hallway reminded you where it was.

"Hi Pete!" you called out as you pushed open the door. Peter Smith was one of the grad students who tended bar at the Rathskellar. He grunted at you and started wiping the counter again. You looked around. There weren't a lot of people there.

Sitting in the corner was Professor Jill Nebar. She was a small quiet woman who taught Math 101 or what most called high school Algebra. You knew this because of the guy sitting next to her, Mitch Mason, was one of her students. He had stopped you one evening in the Library seeking your help with her class. Given his devilish good looks, you had been quite willing to help him. However, he had his hand inside your t-shirt and under your bra before you could get through the first problem. The look on Professor Nebar's face and the way her blouse was pulled tight across her small breasts suggested he was making the same moves on her.

In the other corner, James Stills and Bill Stanes were sitting at another table. From their stools they were tossing darts at the target on the wall. Both were seniors who, from time to time had helped out in the Chemistry lab.

The rest of the tables in the room were empty. Balls were spread over the pool table, but no one was actually playing. Likewise, the foosball table was empty.

You were a little disappointed that you didn't see Cindy, but you were sure she had been there. Maybe one of the patrons had seen her and knew where she had gone. Since you were here, you might as well ask.