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We’ve spent the past few days observing the freshfolk and questioning their NSOP theme—now we get a chance to hear from them. Sweet ’16er S.T. shares the following firsthand account of what it’s really like out there.
We clutch our CUIDs and giggle as we walk past the security guard at East Campus. We garner a few wary stares from wandering upperclassmen as we stand outside the door, adjusting our dresses, running our fingers through our hair, and waiting for our divine savior. The door opens, spilling majestic light and smoke around His silhouette—that guy who advised the friend of that girl on our hall whose name starts with an “S,” we think.
Yes, we are freshmen. Yes, we are going to a frat party on our first night at Columbia. And, yes, we do think that we’re the coolest shit ever.
After a day of playing the roles of little lost NSOP sheep who submissively bleat out “Roar, Lion, Roar,” the plunging necklines and high heels emerge. Our true assimilation into the Columbia culture occurs only with the help of alcohol, so we over-excitedly plan a trip to the frat party. As we walk up the stairs, the music swells. The smell of weed intensifies. Our savior tells us to get drunk and dance, and we willingly obey.
Jungle juice in hand, we form small groups. A creepy older guy continues to ask for “just one dance,” though none of us oblige him. We drink enough of the unidentifiable drinks and shots to feel drunk, but then the alcohol runs out. Wait, only one frat brother and one freshman have jumped up on the bar to grind together? Why does this music not have a beat? Where are all of the hot guys? Where is the freaking keg?
We glance around, unsure, still bopping to the lame music. Is this really what college is like?
Time for Plan B—The Heights, where we manage to get in with boobs and without fakes. It’s late Monday night, and some wrestlers talk to us. We take a few shots of tequila. A few upperclassmen flirt with us. We take a picture with the bar in the background to show how cool we are to our friends back home. Then, we leave, sinking into our beds at 3 a.m.
As we wake up and head to an academic assembly, we sigh at our disappointing night and hope that the Fates have destined us for bigger and better parties.
Yes, we’re freshmen. Yes, we went to a frat party on our first night at Columbia. And, yes, we’re aware that we’re the lamest shit ever.
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20 Comments
@Anonymous is obvious
@Anonymous cool story bro tell it again
@Anonymous Beta sucks worse.
@Anonymous Beta is the only legitimate frat that still throws parties. The rest are pure shit. You should be grateful that a frat like beta is still alive and kicking on this campus.
@hahahahahahaha omg hahahahahahahaha
@obvious troll is obvious
Also, damn reCaptcha
@some of the best writing on bwog in a long time.
@Hmm.... Frat party in E.C? Try the frats that have a house if you want something that doesn’t suck.
@Anonymous Agree with this. Keep up the biting sarcasm and self-awareness frosh! Some of us appreciate it.
@Anonymous Love this post! Way to go S.T. Keep writing please. Don’t let the trolls scare you away!
@Big S.T. Atta girl lil’ sis!
@PrezNope I hope the next “from the streets” report is a freshman learning what it’s like to be mugged.
@Anonymous “We’re walking around plastered. R’s heel broke and she has a limp and her dress is covered in margarita-flavored vomit. I’m suddenly aware of three guys-I can’t state their race because I go to Columbia-behind us as I text my friends back home on my iPhone. R is screaming about how drunk she is. I want to walk faster, but R’s too off-balance to manage more than a hobble. Suddenly the guys are right in front of us. I feel something heavy hit me in the face and I stagger backwards, grabbing R for balance but she collapses onto me. My eye starts to swell shut and from my good eye I can see R getting kicked in the face and what looks like a pool of blood forming under her head. Someone grabs my phone and one of the guys calls me a white bitch. I’m thinking ‘but I’m part Iroquois!’
At St. Luke’s the cops are really mean to us, showing absolutely zero sympathy. R’s face is bandaged and her jaw has to be wired shut. I have 14 stitches in my face, R has 22 in her scalp where one of the guys stomped her head.
Yes, we’re freshmen. We’ll probably get mugged again.
@Anonymous what part of this is funny? you’re little story is violent (and not even in a cool, ninja way), and now i’m nervous about attending the same school as someone as creepy as you..
@Anonymous *your. sincere apologies to all grammar-sensitive readers
@the iThief technically I don’t go to school here
@the iThief — Sent from my iPhone
@The Author Asks... Why would there be anything funny about someone getting mugged?
You think this is bad? Try reality. Muggings are much uglier than what I wrote.
Get the fuck over it. I’m one of the good guys. I write what’s true.
What’s true is this: Morningside Heights is a shithole. You’ll figure that out eventually. Or not.
@Anonymous You have to admit, the Iroquois line was pretty funny though…
@Bad Pun Black humor.