The Case of the Refrigerated Voyeur

I got my first apartment the summer before my junior year at UCSB. I dilly-dallied, delayed, and put off finding a place to live for quite a while, until it got to the point that my only hope was to answer some ads in the newspaper looking for roommates. I’m a pretty easy to get along with kind of guy, so I took my chances and ended up signing a lease for a place to be shared with three other people, although only two of us were going to be living there that summer, and one of them I’d never met.

So yeah, it’s two guys and two girls in one two bedroom apartment. Hilarity ensues.

So anyway, the second girl moves in like two weeks before school starts. Her name was Becky, and good lord was she hot. I went through the entire school year being totally in love with this girl, but of course nothing was ever going to come of it. Let me tell you, you think unrequited love is bad? Try living with the object of your affection and knowing that she would never go for a guy like you. The closest I would ever get to sleeping with her was catching a wayward glance of her breast down the collar of her T-shirt when she was bending over to look inside the fridge one night. And it’s not like I even saw nipple, so that shouldn’t even count.

And of course she was a redhead. And redheads drive me absolutely crazy…

So anyway, one of the jobs she got while in college was working as a henchman (We in the biz call it “henching”) working for Poison Ivy. Apparently the money was good, and she had to wear all these skimpy plant-themed outfits, so it’s not like I didn’t benefit in some regard. I also got ALL the dirty details about her operation (“So is Poison Ivy a lesbian?” “Oh yeah. I have to fend her off with a stick.”).

So anyway, one night I’m feeling thirsty, so I go to the kitchen to get myself something to drink. I’m kind of groggy and all, so while I’m rustling through the fridge it takes me a minute to realize what’s off. The first thing I notice is that the bottle of Coca Cola seems to have pointy ears and eyes. The second thing I notice is that it’s not really a bottle of Coke at all, but rather a head with a mask that had a Coca Cola label taped onto the forehead. The third thing I notice is that this head is staring right at me. That’s when it hits me: Holy hell, that’s not a bottle of Coke!

That’s BATMAN in my fridge!

“Uh… Batman, what are you doing in my fridge?”

“I am not Batman. I am a bottle of Coca Cola Classic, as clearly indicated by my product labeling,” he said as he pointed to the logo on his head.

“Looks like you just stuck a label onto your forehead…”

“Alright, you caught me. I am Batman.”

“That still doesn’t explain what you’re doing in my fridge.”

“I’m waiting for your roommate Becky.”

“Ah, so you know she’s a henchman for Poison Ivy and want to give her the shakedown to find out what her plan is?”

“Um… Yeah. Sure.”

“………..”

“What?”

“You just want to see her breasts down the front of her shirt when she bends over to reach inside the fridge, don’t you?”

“Yeah. Pretty much.”

“Best of luck to you. Can I have a glass of juice?”

 

LEGENDS OF BATMAN!