They’re here and they’re ready to party. Get out of their way.

Continuing our East Campus Archetype series, staffer Finn Klauber brings you a peek at one of the most dreaded figures that hangs around EC: the party-seeking first-year.

It’s a nice night out. Friday has been a tough day for you, between several sprints to turn in late problem sets and sending out a few job apps. You’re ready to just head back to your EC suite (your reward from accepting the passage of time and finally getting a good lottery number) and chill out. Walking up the stairs to EC though, you hear a faint murmur of voices reverberating in the night air.

What? Is Holi year round now? Nobody controversial is speaking at IAB today, you don’t think. Maybe it’s an especially intrusive new form of bake sale.

As you get to the top, you realize what’s going on.

The goddamn EC freshmen.

They’re lining the path between the EC bridge and the entrance, waiting for any sign of a party,  or even just a pregame. Whenever some unfortunate soul approaches or leaves the entrance, you can see one or two of them gingerly calling out, asking if anything is going on inside.

Now it’s your turn. Into the breach, you think, keeping your eyes on the heavy glass doors.

“Hey bro,” somebody calls out on your left. Shifting your bag, you rotate towards the source of the voice. “Do you know of anything going on in EC tonight?” the same person asks, his friends now silent, waiting for your response. He’s wearing salmon shorts, rolled up just a little bit, contrasting stylishly (he thinks) with his light blue Vineyard Vines oxford. You think he (read: his parents) spent more on his Sperrys (worn sockless, of course) than you’ve paid for meals this month. A pair of Ray Ban aviators sits neatly on his high fade, in reach just in case he needs to slip them on tonight.

You consider eking out some sort of apology, offering his crew some sorry advice (loud enough for the other roving bands of freshmen to pick up on) that there’s always something going on in EC but you don’t know of anything. You remember being in their position (God, so long ago). Some halfway decent advice won’t save their night, but it may just remind them that they’re human.

Ah, fuck ‘em.

You continue trudging forward, hoping news of some oh-so-cool Carman party draws them away. From behind you hear excited tones.

“I’m telling you bro, we just need to knock on the doors and they’ll let us in.”

“Okay man, I think Pike has a townhouse. Let’s just find someone to swipe us through.”

Walking through the doors, you leave behind the freshmen conversations for some peace and quiet. Sure, you may have missed the ends of some intriguing stories about how to make the best jungle juice, who to go to for fake ids, and what happened that one time in Cabo during Spring Break, but you think that’s all behind you now.

It’s all behind you. That is, until they learn they can swipe themselves in.

Illustration by Phoebe Newton