Welcome week: A wondrous time where thousands of young minds descend onto college campuses to live, learn, and thrive. It is a time of celebration and discovery, where you discover yourself digging through your "best friend's" freezer at three a.m. for god knows what while your floormates (aka the newly assigned best friends) keep watch for that one girl named Melanie, or Christine, or you probably don't even remember until you make awkward eye contact the next week walking to class. This fateful week is a host of dozens of school sponsored events, socials, and meetings but you probably don't even care about that come nine p.m. It's time to go out. Throughout this welcome week, there are several types of parties the youngsters of universities frequent and I decided a rough guide would be a good idea after a rough week.
1) The Infamous Basement Party
Walking down the rows of brick townhouses, listening to the chatter of wobbling groups of partygoers pass by, you can almost hear the sound of DJ Khaled and impending regret coming from one of these houses. It's dark, so no one can see you sweating and you pick up your pace, trying to maintain your swagger in the most nonchalant manner. Finally. The moment has arrived. You and your roommates, your buddies and your homies or whatever are on the doorstep ready to party. Entering, you try to dap up Chad, the semi-latino looking junior with a tattoo on his left arm saying, "Hey, what good dude?" to no response. After being waved in, the beautiful stench of sixty sweating teenagers rises from the depths of the house and you're eager to join their ranks. The line to the basement is slow, slower than the two hour algebra class you had at eight a.m. but the potential possibilities of getting sweated on by an attractive person you can't see keeps you going. Patience is a virtue, my friend. After the awkward shuffle down the steps, you are in paradise. By paradise, I mean your 55-year-old Aunt Nancy's nightmare, but it's okay, she'll never find out. By eleven, the alcohol is long gone, but hey, "who needs alcohol to have a good time?" your roommate says as he attempts a nae nae. After twenty minutes of listening to that one guy's Spotify party playlist, and trying to scope out the chicks, you realize it's actually been two hours. No one's even dancing, other than an occasional dab and white boy two step, so you turn back to your group. The green lasers shine over your floor mate James's face, and you can see he's ready to go. Looking down, you can see your socks are soaked and agree with James; this party has run its course.
2�) The Legendary Frat Party
Oh boy. These are the big leagues. You've seen the polos on campus and the pastel button ups, knowing that these are the self proclaimed party animals of this university. After getting a text from your address plug, it's go time. You don the button up that can only be completed with a solo cup and round up the dudes. Now this party is on the outskirts of campus, like an actual house. An actual nice house, so you can tell these guys have money. At least enough to buy an outside couch and cover all available trees in Christmas lights. Upon reaching the back gate, you can feel the bass from that one Rae Sremmurd song and are greeted by a floral shirt and his friend. "Who do you know?" the shirt asks as he waves in a herd of girls. Caught off guard, you pray and say, "Umm, Alex, he sent me the address. We good, right?" No. You are not good. According to juniors and above, freshmen are not good. With a sigh, you walk back to the street and regroup with your squad. You're determined, and no floral shirt is getting in the way of you getting that red solo cup. Watching Animal House and The Neighbors prepared you for this; this is your destiny. Then, you get an idea. Your best idea yet, and you begin walking, take a quick left at the street and come up the front door which is guarded by a pastel blue polo clearly annoyed that he's stuck on door duty. This is your in. You bump your cool factor up to eleven and quietly follow a group of girls through the front gate avoiding eye contact with the door man. Thirty seconds later, now that you're closer to the speaker, you remember the song was No Flex Zone and proceed to the kitchen. After using the soft push technique you learned from beating Assassin's Creed this summer, you make your way to the counter and finally, yes finally, you get that gosh darn red solo cup. Mission accomplished. Across the kitchen you see that one girl you talked to during orientation and make your way over, walking in the most non-creepy manner. Then your other roommates, whose names you can't remember, bump into you and you catch up quickly so you can catch up with that one girl whose name you can't quite remember. After some quick conversation, she introduces you to her roommate, whose name you immediately forget and they leave together. After chilling on the wall, and re-reading old texts to avoid looking lonely, you realize it's only eleven. The DJ is jamming, the dance floor is small, but people are dancing so this party is, as the youth say, lit. When your guys are ready to go, you agree and exit through the front gate as to avoid the floral shirt and his friend and get out alive.
3) The Party In The Bad Part Of Town, But You Know People, So It Shouldn't Be Too Shady.
All right, this is the party everyone's talking about. Your old friend from high school Jeremiah told you about it. It is supposed to be big. After looking it up on Google Maps, it is a hike and a half, but, when did that ever stop you? After changing into some Adidas track pants and a white shirt you feel like the Fresh Prince and your wing man's getup consists of gold Nikes jeans and a black shirt so you're as confident as Steve Irwin taking on an Australian croc the size of a surfboard. Come 9:30, you, your wing man, and some girls you met in high school are hiking through the city. After one block, you pass the last convenience store on campus. After two, the raggedy town houses begin to be covered in graffiti. After three, you're walking past the power station and by the gas station sushi equivalent of houses. After four blocks, you pass a couple low-riders and convertibles blasting designer and see the house. It is packed. People litter the streets, lawns and porches, and the doorman is dealing with the crowd trying to get in. Saying it's too packed, the dude running the door starts taking bids to get in. One dollar, two dollars, can I get a five? No? Well, you got girls so you can get in. Metaphorically putting your best foot forward, you put the girls of the group in the front and by sheer luck, you slide by the man into the house, and it is on a "whole nother level." Inside, you find something resembling a 21 Savage music video, but with the lights turned off. Everyone is dancing, everyone is jamming, it's open season. By the time you weave your way to the center of the room, it's apparent you are the only white person in the building. These are foreign lands but everyone is united in the pursuit of the party and some people, judging by the slack jaw and droopy eye lids, are pursuing that happiness harder than others. You make a silent prayer that you won't find yourself sleeping in some dirty bathroom come five a.m. Who cares if you're the only white guy there? Who cares if you're 6'2 wearing a Neff shirt in a sea of Rocawear and Sean Jean. You wanna dance, you'll get a dance. And let me tell you something: These girls know how to dance. This is some twerking and spinning and I don't even know what. Everyone is having a good time and it is contagious. Come Monday night, this was where you wanted to be. This was where everyone wanted to be. I call it the sweat factory, and everyone was working a line. Bottles were being passed around, solo cups too, and the smell of sweat and ganga permeated the small living room. After re-checking your phone to avoid awkward eye contact with the shirtless dudes in front of you, it's one a.m. and time to go. Then your friend from high school sends you a text saying the cops are coming. Now it's really time to go. Thirty minutes later, the cold side of your pillow is a godsend and you regret nothing.
4) The Club
Being underage for the past seventeen years of your life, the club scene has never really been an option. But now, the game has changed. Earlier this summer, your best friends older sister who is a junior insists you "HAVE TO GO TO GODFREY'S!" on Wednesday. And being a man of your word, you send her a Facebook message, and the plans are made. You've never been to a club. So far your only experience with the "club" either involves a ranch chicken one or the Spanish extracurricular type, but nonetheless, you are ready to party. Getting ready, a light pink button up and skinny jeans should fit in with the upperclassmen, right? Arriving at their house for the pregame, you realize you chose the right outfit. Button-ups and skinny jeans fit well with tight black dresses, or at least according to Project X they do. Fast forward an hour, the Uber arrives and you depart. Down near the arts district, the club greets you with mannequins wearing cop outfits and fishnets. So it's that type of club. The type of club that serves tacos rather than burgers. One that does white drugs on the white porcelain in the stained white bathroom. It's an acquired taste and one that leaves your mouth dry in the morning. You and your friend's older sister and her two button-up pals dive in. There's no turning back now. The sweaty bodies surround you and the music joins in, and then suddenly, the lights dim and the runway lights up. The soulful song erupts from the speakers and almost your eardrums, the blue, green, and red lasers spray the room with vibrant color and (s)he storms the stage, strutting back and forth earning dollar bills being handed out from the audience. This is a drag show. Soon everyone is dancing and the stage opens up to everyone. Everyone is dancing on everyone, and this is as far away from last night's party as it could be. Even though you may not swing the same way most of these clubbers do, there is a place for everyone here and soon you find yours with a group of like-minded girls. There were only a couple mishaps such as being offered a white baggie in the bathroom and having one of my friends lose her card but overall, everything went swimmingly.
Clubs, basements, and houses all can be the place to be on a Friday night. And yes, the club does go up on a Tuesday. Wherever you go, bring your A-game and stay off your phone. You can't get that cute person's number by staring at your own phone. Never leave your wingman and never stay longer than the drinks. Keep your head on straight and stay safe out there. That red solo cup is waiting for you and good times are too.
