Living With Lyle

Problem Number Three

Head Lice

            After years of watching movies like Animal house and Van Wilder, I had a certain expectancy for the way I believed the average college student would act on weekends. So believe me when I say that I felt pretty bad for Lyle when I heard that his acne medicine was too hard on his liver for him to consume any alcohol. However I was a bit thrown off when I heard he had also given up all his Saturday nights so that he could wake up on Sunday mornings to attend meetings with a Quaker society he joined out of the blue.

Yes, every Sunday morning at 6:00am Lyle’s alarm would go off, only so that he could press snooze every seven minutes until 7:00am when he actually had to wake up. He would then roll out of bed and shuffle outside where the shady van full of Quakers would be waiting to scoop him up and rush him off to a long day of prayer and apple picking (I like to picture Lyle riding shotgun with the Quaker’s oatmeal man singing gospel tunes).

            Don’t get me wrong, I have no issues with Quakers, I just found it a bit odd that someone who was never previously religious would give up all his potential wild Saturday night memories of freshman year (though on some level I do admire his independence).  And I really didn’t have any problem with this, until his “announcement.”

            “Dudes” Lyle said in a way that grabbed both the attention of myself and my other roommate Nate (who was buried in homework at the time). “I have head lice.”  I could swear I heard a record scratch as soon as he said it.  “No you don’t.” I replied (adding a “please please god tell me this is a joke” in my head). “Yea I got em pretty bad. I think they’re from the Quakers, But don’t worry…Actually Nate’s hair is too short, only you worry.” He said.

“Wow, thanks Lyle. That’s really reassuring.”

            He went on to suggest that I wash anything that is near his bed (which is the bunk above mine, so by extension everything near my bed) or the seat by the window (that currently had a freshly washed pile of my laundry sitting on it). To put things in perspective Lyle’s hats, shirts (and socks), are constantly drifting down from his bed and onto mine. So it’s damn near impossible for me to avoid him, though I sure as hell tried.

            But the very next morning when I was in the shower, I heard Lyle’s voice calling to me from just outside the door. I shut my eyes tight and hoped he wasn’t about to ask me to drive him to get his “special shampoo.” But sure enough the next words out of his mouth were exactly what I expected them to be. And given my vulnerable state in the shower I agreed to do it. Under the condition that he wear a hat that covers as much of his head as possible.

            The hour that followed consisted of a seemingly infinite trip to CVS, in which my head was as far out the window as possible, and Lyle constantly shifting his hat around as though he was trying to itch his head with his other strands of hair. I also distinctly remember watching the perky pharmacist’s smile drop and head jolt back as Lyle told her his reasons for being there. And even with the treatment, Lyle did end up shaving his head (one extreme paranoia filled a week later).

Although I couldn’t bring my self to touch my pile of laundry for another month or so, I did managed to avoid getting lice. And that’s about as close to a happy ending as a story like this can get.