On Thursday night, a friend of mine turned 21. Natch, we took her out to the bars in Collegetown to celebrate.
We were at a particular establishment that I try to stay away from because of the overpowering stench of vomit and Axe body spray, the too-loud music and the fact that the dance floor is usually more like a pool of nasty spilled beverages. In the span of 45 minutes, not only did I see my ex-boyfriend, half of the Sun staff, and a bunch of sorority sisters, but I also managed to totally awk it up with some grad student.
The basic jist of the story goes like this: some guy I’d never seen before was wearing a suit and I asked him why. It was a legitimate question. Why would he wear a suit to the bars– to this bar? His house was probably no less than a 5-minute walk from there. Could he not have gone home and changed?
He started talking really fast and I didn’t hear what he was saying, nor do I ever think he provided any answers to solve the suit mystery. I did catch that he was a business school grad student, went to undergrad somewhere in the Midwest, and he was 28.
28? Wow. But eh, he seemed interested and my friends had left me, so I kept talking to him and prayed he wouldn’t ask me anything that would give away my age. Obviously, he did ask– and I tried to lie and say I was a 27-year-old law student. It really didn’t fly and he looked totally pissed, said a bunch of stuff about how it’s uncool to lie about these things and blah blah.
The next morning, I walked into Casino Operations class at 10:10 am clutching my life-saving bottle of Gatorade…and guess who waltzes in and sits down right in front of me with his grad student friends? Oh yes. The suit man himself.
Almost 20,000 undergrads and grads on this campus and sometimes it feels way, way too small.