will admit to being addicted, just not to drugs. Sure, I smoked a joint in college every now and then. I got my “first high” in the middle of a stage production—not a good thing, albeit a funny one. I got the giggles so bad I soon had everyone on stage laughing hysterically, all while in the middle of a “serious” play written by Mr. King, the head of the drama department, who wasn’t the slightest bit amused by my villainous character coming down with a case of the giggles in the middle of Act I.
But even so, my addiction wasn’t to drugs. It was to cheese, to pizza, to burgers, all eaten quietly while no one was looking. I would wait for my roommate to fall asleep in our tiny dorm room before partaking of snacks of any sorts. I would then take out the wrappers from the trash before dawn to hide all proof of my binge.
I put on even more weight. Was it being added to keep my parents away? If so, it worked. I was no longer invited “home” to Germany by my mom, and Bonnie wanted nothing to do with me, either. This meant my father also stopped inviting me to his place in Boston for school breaks.
There was just one problem: the campus would still close down, as did the dorms. So I began spending holidays and school breaks sleeping in public places like airports or bus terminals, or with the occasional kind soul who would let me sleep on the floor in their home. One such person was the head of the drama department, Mr. King.
I know this sounds so melodramatic, but I’m truly surprised I did not end up in more serious trouble with as many nights as I spent sleeping—or trying to sleep—in public places.
However, if the opportunity arose, I’d avoid sleeping in public places by becoming an intrusive guest to any Good Samaritan who had room on his or her living room floor for me to crash. This mostly equated to kindhearted teachers or college administrators (people I barely knew) since none of my friends at school lived locally and would return to their homes in other states whenever the campus was shut down.
STUDENT BODIES
When it was time to transfer up to Florida State University and I needed a rental car to transport my belongings, I had to ask the head of the athletic department to let me use her credit card in order to rent the car. I had no idea that you couldn’t rent a car with just cash. I was stuck at the rental car lot without any other options.
Florida State University was an environment like no other. And Tallahassee was nothing like Boca Raton. Compared to Lynn University’s easily accessible student population of 500, FSU touted over 22,000 students.
Finding the attractive people to befriend in order to fool the world, in my mind, into accepting me as a “normal person” was going to be difficult.
Initially, I thought I had lucked out when Tom (my great-looking roomie) and Kathi-Jo (one of the sought-after beauties) had transferred to FSU, as well. But both were quickly scooped up by fraternities and sororities, neither of which wanted anyone fat as a member.
It’s humiliating to hear people mock your weight, sometimes when standing right next to you. Didn’t they know that a human being lived beneath those layers of fat? Weren’t they aware that a heart beat under the blubber? What that cruel Greek population at FSU couldn’t see was how terribly small I felt despite my size. My armor of humor crumbled here as I tried to find my place in strange and unfriendly surroundings.
I was majoring in Communications with a minor in Theater, and so I thought I could make a decent impression with my old tricks of being the class clown with a decent singing voice. However, there were over 3,000 of us trying to get noticed within the FSU School of Theatre. The vehicle I was sure would allow me to get noticed in a good way was the school’s Mainstage production of The Boy Friend. For the first time, I found the auditioning process daunting.
I needed a standout role in order to “win over” the audience as well as my new classmates, but most of the roles in that musical were for fit young men. Those weighing in at just under 400 pounds need not apply. I was fortunate to get cast in the small role of the Garçon (the waiter), an honor given the amount of people who were auditioning and my being new in the program, I was told.
How was I going to make an impression with only five minutes of stage time?
None of the cool kids in the theater department wanted anything to do with me. There were other class clowns already taking center stage—thin and attractive class clowns.
Being depressed about my weight, I did the only thing I knew how to do . . . eat.
I sat in my room and counted the minutes until 4:00 p.m. every day, when the local pizza and sandwich delivery places started delivering to the campus (heaven forbid I walk to any of those places). Every day at 4:01 p.m., I would order a truckload of food.
I’d make sure to order enough food for four, and also enough drinks for four—thinking the delivery driver would then assume it wasn’t all for me—as if the delivery drivers cared. I put on more weight very quickly.
How quickly? I soon weighed over 400 pounds. The only clothes that fit were two pairs of sweat pants and a couple of oversized shirts. The sweat pants were awful, but nobody made jeans in my size.
Dormitory Gregg’s Typical Binge
1 large Pizza with Everything
1 large Italian Hoagie with Everything
1 large bag of Barbecue Potato Chips
A variety of Candy Bars from the vending machines
1 large carton of Chocolate Milk
6-pack of Pepsi
I was now so fat my penis was literally retracted into my pelvis (due to my enormous stomach that engulfed my groin). I resorted to stuffing a sock or two into my crotch so the world would know I was male. I also maintained the beard I had grown during my last year at Lynn University.
I tried desperately to be “foxy for a fat kid,” but it wasn’t working anymore. I was huge. I was sweaty. I felt ugly. Therefore I was ugly. At least in my mind.
After six months I managed to land a “beautiful-person” friend in Tallahassee. She was a short, voluptuous bombshell named Elizabeth, with big brown hair, big blue eyes, and big, curvy breasts. Bigger than my big “man” breasts, in fact. Men would walk into walls staring at her chest.
Elizabeth had the personality of a saint and a maniac rolled into one. She was never embarrassed to be seen with me; I knew people were impressed when they saw me with her. Despite my initial selfish reason for befriending her, a genuine friendship blossomed between us.
But I continued to eat. Oh sure, I tried to diet. For about eight hours every Monday. And sometimes on Tuesday. Often on Wednesday. Never on Thursday, Friday, Saturday, or Sunday, though. That was too close to the following Monday, any dieter’s favorite day to “start.” I tried every diet known at the time—multiple times.
College-Aged Gregg’s Attempted Diet Plans
The Atkins Diet
Ayds Reducing Plan Vitamin and Mineral Candy
