I rushed along to my part-time job at a huge public university where I’m considered “faculty” even though I’m an hourly employee and kind of a peon in the Great Works. Nonetheless, I was running late and had to make the 15-20 minute walk across a teeming peopled highway to get there by the appointed hour.
I’m a 30-year-old guy but tend to look much younger than that. If I shaved my scruffy beard, it would be difficult to distinguish me from any upperclassman or youngish grad student milling about. Because my week had seen a series of job interviews – one involving a 30-minute presentation – I was a little bit disheveled looking and had, in fact, forgotten to put hair gel in my moppy needs-a-cut lid. I wore a rumpled looking blue sweater, jeans, and blue sneakers that I feel look mildly hipster.
I say all this to promote the fact that I more than likely looked like your average college dude rushing about campus on a Wednesday morning early in the spring semester.
I approached an intersection where two frat-looking dudes were handing out little square pieces of colored paper to people and saying things like, “You should come on down” and, to a few young ladies, “You guys are invited – bring some friends, okay?”
Now, I don’t really like to be handed pieces of paper that I don’t want and haven’t asked for. A lifetime of growing up around New York City has taught me to wear a steely eyed face in such situations, with instinctual preparations made to knock away any hand that attempts to invade my personal space (this came in very handy recently during travels in Spain where gypsies try to hand you things wherever you go – my father-in-law wasn’t so lucky and got pick-pocketed).
However, this was all quite unnecessary: the frat dudes, for whatever reason, did not seem to deem me an acceptable candidate for their exotic frat soiree. Could they have been distracted by the two young ladies who had just accepted their pieces of paper and been advised to bring their friends? Perhaps. Were young ladies the preferred recipients of said pieces of paper? Also perhaps, though I had just witnessed both genders receive their precious pieces. As I walked past – invitation free – a wave of mild anxiety descended.
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Article comments
1 - Dave Nalle
As Social Chairman of the Penn Eta Champter of Phi Kappa Psi class of 1981 I hereby extend to you an honorary retroactive invitation to our Heaven or Hell theme party. Since you were only 7 at the time you'll have to come in the back door, and it's BYOD but we have Rolling Rock on tap 24/7.
Dave
2 - Eric Berlin
RSVP: Eric B. @ 7 gladly accepts and will be glad to bring enough "OJ" for everyone to share. And if you have the Giants wildcard playoff victory over the Eagles on BetaMax (helmed by a youngster named Phil Simms) that would great...
3 - Dave Nalle
LOL, like we could afford to buy or figure out how to use a VCR with 24-hour beer and whippets in the taproom.
Dave
4 - Eric Berlin
Taproom? Sounds fancy.
I don't think I've even heard the term "whippets" since my final rugby-playing days, and it was usually prefaced by loud screaming shouts of WHO WANTS...
5 - Dave Nalle
Well, a taproom is just a room with a fridge, a tap and beer on the floor.
Rugby players did whippets? Not during play I hope.
Dave
6 - Eric Berlin
Have you ever beared witness to a keg-erator (fridge that somehow holds a keg and lets you serve beer from a tap that extends through a cut-out hole)? It's quite a sight.
The whippets I observed were overwhelmingly sucked down by crazy members of our alumni that would show up at our games / "drink ups" from time to time. The only acceptable drink during / between games was beer, though the only time I partook was when I broke my hand and slammed one down along with a bunch of Advil. I was far too big and slow to have the luxury of alcohol... until afterwards, of course.
7 - Dave Nalle
Yah, the Kegerator thing is what we had. Someone made it in the dark ages of the 70s, but it still worked.
Dave
8 - Eric Berlin
I remember the beer on the floor thing, by the way. That was kind of omnipresent back then. In fact, during senior year, it was nearly impossible to walk around my house in anything but sneakers, boots, or cleats.