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!!!
In the blink of an eye, nine RAs stormed in with the wrath of Achilles. As the RAs’ message of “bail hard” circulated amongst unwitting freshpeople innocently trying to get their crunk on, the crowd rushed down the stairwell, where ladies in nonsensible heels clung to the handrails, fearing imminent death by stampede. Some of the more timid freshmen seemed paralyzed by fear, apparently having lucid nightmares of being spit-roasted like a kalua pig at PrezBo’s next fireside chat. I stealthily maneuvered my way to my room, promptly changed into pajamas, and returned to the hall under the guise of having been woken by the RA-induced ruckus.
Disappointingly, the nine RAs shut the party down in less than 5 minutes. I retired to my bed, feeling both euphoria and regret for what the rest of the night could’ve been.
According to one satisfied attendee, one or more virginities on her floor may have been lost that night as a result of the party, causing mass sleep deprivation among Carmanites subjected to their suitemates’ squeals, howls, and snorts. She simplified this effect in the following handy equation: suburban teens + jungle juice = primal sex.
This might be presumptuous of me to assert as a recent arrival, but I’d venture to say that living in Carman during NSOP has to be one of the most quintessential Columbian experiences I’m likely to ever have. The priceless facial expressions of the security guards at 3 am, somewhere between subtle amusement and not giving a single fuck. The masses of painfully hip international students chain-smoking on the steps down to 114th trying to decipher the uniquely American phenomenon known as “puke-and-rally.” The indelicate clomping of first-years wearing six-inch heels as a supplement to their brand-new Delaware IDs in an overly earnest attempt to get into an allegedly raging bar down the street called “One-Zero-Two-Zero”.
However, out of all of these priceless images, the Carman 8 party is the one night that is forever in my memory, minus a few hazy bits, and the NSOP 2013 event most poised to become CU legend. As one RA astutely commented, “this [party] is the opposite of low-key”. The Carman 8 party was, indeed, the highest of keys, a proverbial C sharp that still rings in my ears and makes me yearn for the bygone days of NS(L)OP.
*Censored by Interim Dean of Student Affairs Terry Martinez
Back in Bwog’s day… via Shutterstock.