Let’s fast forward the clocks a bit. It’s the spring of 2013 and the Titz Carlton is in full swing. We survived the great jenkem harvest, scratched up enough pennies to make it through the winter months and most importantly, we survived our land lords wrath…. for the time being. My first year living in the slumlords that is the Titz Carlton, I was accompanied by some elderly roommates who had already established a full two years within the homes. With the spring coming to a close, the household had to decipher what to do for the next year. Stay in hell or move onto greener pastures. My elders (roommates) had done their time if you will and we’re ready and eager to move on to other sanctuaries. Being the young buck I still was, I wanted to keep the Titz legacy alive and recruit some new troops to march into battle against my landlord, my neighbors and FGCU. 4 behemoths with not a care in the world and a middle finger to society. Now came the hard part, recruitment. Believe it or not, presenting the idea of living a full year in the Titz Carlton is not as easy as it sounds. Sure, everyone loves to glamorize the parties and completely f***k up the house but what comes after is the true horror.

The morning after.

Fast forward through all the chaos, broken beer bottles, dreams and tables lies one thing: The Aftermath. Like hurricane Katrina, after a night at the Titz, utter destruction is what’s left standing. Guess who get’s to deal with the aftermath? The residents. That’s right, you know exactly who you are. People would shuffle in and out after each blowout, ripping cabinets off the wall, using peoples beds like they are their own and all the while, drinking free beer and destroying our house. Every Saturday started the same, you find the few stragglers passed out on the couch. Next, the help comes stumbling through looking for their belongings from the night before.

” Have you seen my purse?”

No, I have not Carrol, but your dignity is in the above ground pool where you were sinning all night.

“Any idea where my I phone is?”

Check the toilet, Taylor.

“Haha you’re so funny.”

I’m serious.

” Hey man, I left a 12 pack of Tecate in your pantry. Is it in there?”

I don’t know man, go look.

“Dude, it’s not f****ng in there. You told me it would be safe in there!”

Oh, I’m sorry Cameron. There we’re 400 people here last night. My I phone and Coasta’s are gone and I caught a female peeing in my laundry hamper last night. (A big F you to that person. you know who you are.) Rest assured, I’ll be sure to re fund you your 12 pack but more importantly, did you have a good time last night?

Once you get past all the unwarranted visitors which I may add, never offer to help, comes the cleanup. Cleaning up after a party is no task anyone wants to complete. Cleaning up after a Titz party is what I imagine punishment in Guantanamo bay is like. The floor is dark Pink from Juice, vomit and god knows what else. Wearing a pair of rain boots is a must as flip flops and ill advised footwear will be destroyed from the gravitational pull of the sticky ground. Glass is everywhere because why would anyone want to drink canned beer!????? that’s too easy for the home owners to pick up.

Want to take a shower the next day? Have fun draining the tub filled to the brim with ice  because why use coolers for beer? Let’s just fill the tubs up with 1,000 beers.

Now time to check what was damaged. Doors kicked in, holes in wall and more times than not, you can count on the AC busting because the San Carlos house designed in 1860 was not designated to host 400 people.

People sure do love to rave about the Titz Carlton like it’s some damn amusement park. Sure, the roller coaster may be fun but at the end of the day, it has to come down. For the owners, that was every morning. Luckily, I was able to convince 3 strapping lads to move in to keep the legacy alive. Stay tuned for next weeks chapter: My first date ever: Court with the landlord.


Written by Clarky