Reporting live from the floor of the Metcalf elevator, it’s Saturday night! How I ended up lying here, I’m honestly not sure. I think it’s also important to preface that I’m under nefarious influences, which probably call my journalistic credibility into question. But that minutia aside, I’m excited to reflect on what has, so far, been a relatively lit* college partying experience.
I hope I’m not alone in confessing that in high school, my nights pretty much exclusively consisted of homework. In desperate and somewhat daring hopes of being admitted to a school like Brown, I studied my ass off, and you probably did, too. I mean sure, there are a select few among us who managed to maintain perfect transcripts while regularly experimenting with club drugs, and I totally applaud those people for that. But for me, the payoff involved a lot of sacrifice. Now that we’re all finally here, it’s time to throw down.
Granted, social life at Brown is great, but it’s no Blue Mountain State. Friday nights don’t just happen; they are planned. If you live way out in Pembroke like I do, every decision needs to be made strategically, taking into account all the variables that threaten to derail the evening’s success. Pros and cons must be evaluated, details confirmed, Google Maps consulted. What is the statistical probability that the party gets shut down before we get there? And exactly how close are you with that guy on the baseball team?
Every friend group needs a friend who is good at that kind of stuff. A rational friend, who prides themselves on responding to texts efficiently and getting everyone back to a dorm in one piece. I have that friend, and I love her to death. Where she is right now, I don’t know, but I’d really appreciate if she’d come fetch me off the elevator floor.
Anyway, since I’m going to be here a while, I thought I might as well compile a list of lessons I’ve learned over the past three weekends of “going out” — or trying to.
- When deciding how many Ubers to call, be realistic. Six people in Stanley’s Honda Accord is doable. But eight? Eight is ambitious.
- Don’t solely rely on “that cute guy from ENGN 09” to text you the details.
- If bae doesn’t text you the details, that’s their loss. Remember: your body is a wonderland.
- Lingering in the tiny bathroom of a crowded nightclub is a great way to hear secrets, but it also guarantees that you will accessorize with trailing TP.
- Wear the body suit!
- Sometimes it’s okay to pretend you’re a junior. Other times, it’s absolutely necessary.
- When it comes to the keg, roll up your sleeves and prepare to throw elbows.
- Always treat your blisters.
- Vodka and tequila are IN NO WAY interchangeable.
- If the conversation starts with “The thing about Hillary is …” Retreat immediately.
- Memorizing the lyrics to every Drake song ever isn’t mandatory, but it’s definitely encouraged.
- Mozzarella sticks are always a good idea.
- Playing card games with your unit mates is a great way to bond and a great way to end the night.
- If you’re not international, don’t try to fake an accent in hopes of getting into a Buxton pregame.
- You can’t write that paper drunk. You might think you can, but you just can’t.
As illustrated above, the last few weeks have been enlightening to say the least. Especially the vodka-tequila distinction thing.
That revelation almost ended me.
Another watershed realization was that getting f**ed up with friends isn’t going to be the best part of my college experience. Sure, I might end up on the elevator floor a few more times, refusing to get up despite my roommate’s insistence that I go to bed. But for the health and wellbeing of myself and the people around me, I’m going to cool it on the party thing, because as long as there are horny nerds on this campus, there will always be another party. Of that, and that alone, we can be sure.
*The official definition of “lit,” according to Urban Dictionary is “Something that is fucking amazing in any sense.”