I suppose that when you're an 18 year old boy and you're waiting for laundry to be done, there's really not much else to do -but- set shit on fire. ("These dryers, dude...I could run around the west lawn waving my clothes over my head and they'd be dry faster than they are in these machines. And I could totally keep the quarters!") For a while the boys were all into stupid fire tricks, filling their hands and mouths with butane and trying not to blow up. Sean's brilliant idea was to fill a coke can up with butane and light it; the opening of the can is small enough that this trick will produce a good sized flame for a relatively long time. His only mistake (alright, his -first- mistake) was to start this experiment in broad daylight on a weekend in the middle of Flagler's relatively conservative campus.
He had just barely got his coke can lit when the security guard strolled around the corner. Being a bright young lad, Sean knew that stomping on fire will put it out and he leapt up, jumping on the can. Sadly, since the can was full of a flammable gas, all that the stomping did was force a large lick of fire to leap out of the can and halfway up his leg, effectively setting his jeans on fire. Sean did the magical "oh shit my leg's on fire" dance in an attempt to put himself out and the security guard, recognizing that he was in the presence of a half-wit, nicely pretended not to see.
He put his leg out and started to sit back down when he noticed that the mostly-crumpled can was still flaming. Angry that it had got the best of him, he stepped on it again, squeezing the last of the butane out of the can and setting himself aflame one more time.
Sean wore those jeans often; he decided he was proud of himself for setting himself on fire. Jesse was really the only one of the boys that ever got the fire thing right:
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