Oh man, how about them awkward moments when your roommate comes in and starts having sex in the room while you’re in there? Aren’t those fun?

I know what you’re thinking: “they’re oodles of fun, Margaret!”

I wouldn’t know because, thankfully, my beloved roommate of three years never put me in that situation. And as I am now my own roommate, I have never put myself in that situation. That would entail me splicing myself into two separate personalities and then having sex with someone in front of myself. And really, that’s just too much trouble to go to.

But many people have been in this situation, and strangely enough, it always ends the same. No, not necessarily with an orgasm, although you’d hope that would be the case for the couple involved, since they’re already going to the trouble of having sex in front of another person.

No, it will assuredly end with the hapless victim rolling over and pretending they’re asleep. And as they’re retelling the story, they’ll act like it was the weird thing to do, even though they did it. But comforting for them, I have yet to hear from one person who hasn’t reacted in this way.

And frankly, I am flabbergasted.

No matter how many times I’ve heard it, “Yeah, I was half asleep in bed when they just climbed in on top of me and started up the ol’ twist and shout—“ it’s always unbelievable to me that someone would remain in such an uncomfortable situation.

A friend of mine once stayed in a room with two couples who were meatloafin’ in the same bed while she lay beside them on a couch. Another friend lay there even though the lights were on and they could see everything in full detail. And yet another pretended to be asleep even when the couple got in the same bed with her and kept up the good work. Yikes.

Let me envision this. I’m lying in bed when two people I KNOW come tumbling in, turn on the ol’ red light bulb (Annie Hall, people), and Marvin Gaye starts a’playin’, (Side note: This is probably not how most college sex scenes play out, and more like a fanciful re-envisioning of my own conception, fanciful because my parents are more of Barry White or Al Green people. But I digress). I’m supposed to relax, smoke a cigarette with them, maybe enjoy a cup of coffee?

Hail to the no cow tipping way. My response would be to get up and out of that motherflossing room faster than you can say curried potatoes.

My reaction was similar when I first heard about the Milgram experiment, an experiment where participants administered progressively larger shocks to another person, even though it causes them great pain, because an authority has told them to. Google it if you don’t know what I’m talking about, you’re in college; it’s time you learned something.

When I heard about the Milgram experiment, I wanted to think that I’d be one of the 35% who didn’t administer the highest shock. But both in the experiment and when ensnared in a sextastrophe, I’m sure—you guys I’m SURE — that we’d all like to think we’d do it differently than the majority of people. But proof is in the pudding, and, looking at the odds, I probably wouldn’t do it at all differently. I’d probably administer the shock and I’d probably feel too terrified and awkward to leave. I can’t really know until I’m involved in that sort of sexcapade.

But if you ever want to come into my room and start smangin’ it, most likely, I’ll just roll over and pretend I’m asleep.

Margaret Browne is a senior majoring in English.