Don’t Peak in Your First Year

I know. It’s exciting. You walk on campus and become consumed by the smell of alcohol and bad decisions. You parents were protective in high school and sitting at home with a plate of pizza rolls and a Wheel of Fortune marathon was your idea of a crazy Friday night. But you’re finally here. Finally free. Finally able to spin the Wheel of Blissful Regret on the Oxford Square. You can’t wait to call your hometown best friend about your drunken hookup or your first time smoking ” the drugs “. You can’t wait to have the experiences Netflix told you you should be having. But these are just thoughts that come on the first week, you know, the week before classes start. Fast forward two months and it’s Sunday night and you’re crying because that drunk hook up never called you back and you spent all your money on drugs that in way made you feel like that episode of Workaholics described it and you have a midterm tomorrow at 8am when you haven’t been to class in three weeks. Suddenly those long awaited bad decisions that you so desperately wanted to make, just become bad decisions. Suddenly it’s Friday night and you’re begging for a night in to watch GSN. Suddenly you realize that maybe being lame all those years wasn’t so bad.

Or maybe that’s just me…

Drunk Chronicles

11:32pm. I’m in my bed. My roommate is in bed. With PJ’s on and make up off we were settled in for a a good night’s rest after a day of what seemed like impossible tasks. Her phone rings.

“Hello?”

I can’t hear the other end of the conversation, but I had a pretty good idea who it was.

“Yeah, we’ll be there in a second.”

The infamous late night, drunk call from the square by our two favorites: Avery and Alex.

“They need a ride, you going?”

We jump out of bed, which I mean quite literally since neither of our 5 foot selves can reach the floor while from the bed. PJs off, shoes on, we head out. The CA’s at the front desk give us questioning looks as we exit the building, but we dodge their fire and begin the five minute journey to the square. We arrive at our usual meeting spot, the parking space right in front of Rooster’s and wait for the boys to stumble, literally stumble, into the car. Backing out of the parking spot may be the hardest part as every one feels they have more important places to be than you. We eventually find ourselves on the path to take our friends home. We see flashlights in the distance. We approach men in uniform. They knock on the window.

“License, please”

I pull out my license out and allow him to speculate if it’s valid or not. I’m sure he’s used to fakes. He asked a few questions and allowed me drive away, slowly and carefully of course. The boys were hungry. We pulled up to Cook Out and laughed as the drunken boys tried to spill their orders out. Fed and happy, we drove them to their apartment and watched them attempt to get up the stairs to their second floor oasis.

“Never a dull moment with them, huh?” said Mary Catherine.

“I don’t think drinking is for me.”