Flying SOLO

This past weekend was a very important one at my most prestigious university, at least, for the students. I'm not going to name any names, but here, the big drinking, dancing, partying weekend goes by the name of Spring Fling and always includes lots of the things that make my school "the party ivy." (figured it out yet?)

What I like best about Fling is not all of the things I have already mentioned, though I hold dancing very near and dear to my heart, but rather the most amazing mess that the most brilliant can make. Here, from the moment we walk onto the cobblestones of America's Oldest University, we are told that we are the best and brightest (at least until next year's class arrives) and that there are high expectations of us. Little do we know, but from that moment on, we enter into a tacit contract with this University. We pretend to be everything they say we are, and they pretend that we never slip up.

This contract is never more evident than during Fling. Fling is the time when most all of us students mess up, public drunkenness, missed classes, noise violations and dark sunglasses each morning. And the University turns a blind eye. Fraternities advertise parties on sheet hung out frat house windows, all bearing the words, "18 to enter, 21 to drink." Yet, I've never been asked my age at a fraternity door. Long lines form outside these houses each night of fling, clusters of students, some barely able to stand, waiting to be let in to a building fairly shaking from the bass of the house/techno music being pumped inside. Yet, no one stops them, no one warns them, no cops arrive and students who end up in the ER barely get slaps on the wrist. Now, I'm not saying that this University is always like this, that each weekend the sheer number of red Solo cups left in the streets totals in the thousands, but this weekend they do. And everybody pretends to be blind and deaf to it all.

In the bright light of Monday morning, all the students return to our perfect delusion. Tall cups of coffee in hand, we thousands of former solo-cupers of Fling walk to class, hair in place, smiles on faces, all pretending we got more than 10 total hours of sleep over the weekend. We return to our shining perfection. This is our end of the bargain, no matter how much we misbehave, if no one punishes us, we'll continue smiling, applying, and trying and as always, making you look good.