The following is based on a true story. As usual, Bwog does not condone underage drinking or the use of fake IDs to get into 1020, even if all of our friends are doing it.
I.
I’m here in Woodbridge
On a cold winter’s night
The liquor is flowing,
I’m feeling alright.
In a few measly hours,
I’ll trudge home in the dark,
But for now, I feel good.
Ah, what a lark!
Some are dancing on tables,
I’m jumping on a chair.
Not a care in the world,
My head full of air.
We head to 1020,
To continue the fun.
I reach for my fake—
It’s not there. (Should I run?)
They might let me in
With my real ID card,
But I can’t find that either,
So from the bar I am barred.
I walk home to Ruggles,
Thoughts fuzzed by the drinks.
I collapse into bed
And into sleep I do sink.
I wake up in the morning
And remember the fright.
I lost my IDs
Somewhere last night.
I retrace all my steps:
1020, Woodbridge, EC
But my IDs aren’t anywhere.
Why is this happening to me?!
I order a new fake
With my good friend Marie.
And a new driver’s license
From my state DMV.
But where are the originals?
I wonder alone.
I guess I’ll never know,
I hope they’ve found a good home.
II.
I’m here in Woodbridge
On a cold winter’s night.
I’m doing my homework,
It’s going alright.
My roommate’s at the table,
I’m sitting in the chair.
I stick my hand in the cushions—
Hey, what’s that there?
It’s some poor chump’s IDs!
One real, and one fake.
He probably misses them,
Let’s try to fix this mistake.
I pull up his Facebook.
Send a message request.
“I think you left your IDs in my suite,
What way to return them is best?”
For months, no response,
So to email I turn.
But there’s still no response,
My communications are spurned.
So now, it’s to Bwog
With our message we go:
If you left your IDs
In a Woodbridge suite long ago,
Shoot us an email
To tips@bwog.com
With your name and your state
And we’ll return them with aplomb!
If not, to some first-year
With a similar face
We’ll donate your party gear
And your spirit, they’ll embrace.