Isn’t it the truth? There is always something.
The first weekend of college, my buddies and I are sitting in our dorm rooms. “Let’s go out and live the college life,” I said, “You know, ‘The Dream.'”
“How are we going to do that?” asked my roommate. “We don’t have any beer, we don’t even know where to go.”
I had to admit, he had a good point. We were just some sorry freshman dudes, looking to have a good time at everyone else’s expense. We didn’t have boobs, we couldn’t buy kegs and we certainly weren’t as cool as our cool cards said we were. What could we contribute to the average college party? We were nothing but a few more sausage on the grill.
“Screw it,” I said, “Let’s go to frat court.”
Yeah right, that was a bad idea. A fight and two lame parties later, we swore off the ingrates across Western for the rest of the year. The next two or three weekends, my roommate and I wandered around UT looking for random parties before we finally resigned ourselves to our sorry fates: getting drunk in the dorm and then causing a ruckus anywhere within walking distance.
The only problem was that alcohol was hard to come by back at that age. Well, it wasn’t really hard to come by: it was just a chore, and often a logistical nightmare. On any given weekend, we had to think long and hard about who we would call up to get us that case or two of beer. We didn’t want to be annoying or anything, we just wanted some brews to take a load off after a long week of putting up with our calculus classes.
Sophomore year, on the other hand, was a different story. Our abusive substance of choice was never hard to come by. Parties, on the other hand, were a bit of a chore. Oh sure, we went to the occasional friendly frat get-together or the random apartment party. The real problem was consistency — there were plenty of weekend nights I spent just hanging out and playing Halo or poker while drinking a few beers. Maybe one night a few of us would get adventurous and trek out to the C-store before it closed for some Star-Crunches and frozen burritos. We were just loco like that.
Finally, junior year rolls around. I’m out in the apartment with my friends; we’ve got a fridge full of beer and a wide social base to work the party scene. We’re working for the weekend; all we want is a little romance.
Friday comes after Thursday, and we have a sweet party lined up. I get out of class and make a beeline for the fridge; I’m going to crack open that first weekend brew and take a load off. “Grab me one too,” says my roommate from the couch.
“Are y’all drinking already?” asks another roomy as he walks out of his room. “Good.”
Four hours of HBO, two boxes of Cheez-its and a case later we are all a little inebriated and have no way to get to the party. We’ve all been drinking and our friends have all been drinking. We have the booze and the location, but we just don’t have anyway to get where we want to go responsibly.
Finally, it’s senior year. It is Friday afternoon and we are all buzzing again, except now we are all 21. Have we finally reached the promised land of college? We’ve got unlimited booze, multiple parties to attend and we pull enough weight to get a ride.
Unfortunately, now partying feels like playing Doom on god mode — the novelty quickly wears off and we quickly realize that college isn’t as much fun without the challenge.
Plus, the party ends up being full of freshmen. Blech.
Unless you are a hot chick or you have no soul, “The Dream” remains just that — a dream. Because there’s always something.
Tell Kenneth to quit whining and drink another beer at [email protected]