Crossing Orange Juice Pool  I'm moving into the second floor of the Billings Hall dorm. My new roommate is named Eric, who is a soccer player at Brimson with the brown bushy hair. We are going on a weekend trip in a van. I go up to the door and his stuff is outside the door in a blue duffle bag. I walk in the room, and he goes out for a minute. All of his stuff is settled in. It's like I moved in late. I go to the bathroom. I'm carrying a yellow tub of popcorn. There are some objects in the popcorn; snack pack pudding containers or clams. I go down a set of stairs to get to the bathroom. The stairs are wide. I see my friend's father Dilbert Simpson. He laughs at a story of me, something that happened a while back involving fish. We joke about the people serving fish one night at this weekend gathering we are going to. Dilbert says he wishes he could be in my group; be my group leader. I keep going to the bathroom. I cough up some phlegm. I go in the women's bathroom by mistake, and then go out. I have a bucket of scrambled eggs. I am trying to cross a swimming pool-like body of orange juice using a rope that is taut about 6 feet above the level of the surface. I spill some eggs, and end up gripping what's left of them in a baseball glove-like manner. My dad and my step mom Lisa are there. I think Lisa is saying something about not mixing the orange juice right: it being bad. I am trying not to touch the juice. I get close to the other side, but don't quite make it. The rope is cut and I fall into the juice. I am still hanging on to the rope trying to get out of the pool. The rope is then cut on the other side of the pool, and goes slack.