Another semester, another season of ridiculous parties. Here, Brennon Mendez brings us back to a better time: NSOP. If you want to tell Mama Bwog about a crazy party experience, email firstname.lastname@example.org or use our anonymous tip form.
As a wide-eyed
freshman* first-year, I had no idea what to expect of my first night as a Columbia student. I had seen a decent amount of shitshows and #canthang moments and developed the belief that college parties couldn’t be that much different than what I’d witnessed in high school.
And then, Carman happened.
The event that kicked off this week of Carman-centric social alcoholism was the now infamous nine-RA party, hosted by the ladies and gentlemen of Carman 8 (a.k.a. the 4-CAVAs-1-week bunch). As a member of the Ocho crew, I stumbled upon a large mass of my fellow freshies in varying levels of movement, from inebriated sways to sexually-frustrated gyrations. An amorphous mass of 50-70 freshmen, armed with first-night libations, spilled out of the host’s room and into the hall, where a jolly good time was had by all, with no fucks given about the multiple laws/policies being so flagrantly broken.
I pushed my way into the suite through the masses of freshpeople incessantly taking Instas with their “new college friends!!!” Strobe lights, cheap beer, and a suffocating cloud of adolescent pheromones welcomed me to the dorm room.
Cue the “Holy shit, I’m ACTUALLY in college!” realization.
Despite the sardine-can conditions, I hadn’t felt as uninhibited during NSOP as I did that night, surrounded by strangers and dancing around on sticky, beer-glazed linoleum. Dynamic conversation ensued, perhaps the least awkward dialogue between freshmen during orientation week. Things were moving brilliantly until…
BAM PLOT TWIST!!!