With all of this talk about new residential colleges, I began thinking of more useful ways to spend Yale’s money. Sure, it would be nice to give a lot more kids the opportunity to get in on our great shit, but first why don’t Pres Lev and the ’Stache pay a little more attention to the kids who are already here? I want a better Yale experience.
I’m sick of in-suite dance parties where the main attraction is Natty Lite and strobe lights — perfect for penis-to-the-thigh grinds. I’ve seen Volume and scene editors together in houses on Edgewood, bonding over their ability to listen to Soulja Boy and T-Pain “ironically.” I’ve been to Toad’s and had a wonderful conversation with a drunk Quinnipiac student about our shared Long Island roots. I’ve come to realize that there are few late-night options for those unwilling to get drunk at a mediocre party — knowing damn well that being drunk is not going to get them laid.
So what better solution is there than to create a giant laser-tag and roller skating complex? Fuck the new colleges. Yale is currently ignoring my desire to be that douchebag who takes his roller blades to a roller disco; the one doing a great impression of Apollo Anton Ono, as girls in braces and pig-tails lock arms and spin to Abba’s “Dancing Queen.” Suddenly your Saturday night options are a lot more enticing. You think, “Well, I can get drunk and dance poorly at Toad’s, get drunk and dance poorly next door, get drunk and dance poorly alone in my room, watch ‘Superbad’ again, do homework, go to sleep, get drunk and stand awkwardly at a frat, watch other people get drunk, or go roller-skating and play laser tag at the new student activities center.”
I mean, come on: laser tag. How fucking sweet is laser tag? You get to shoot people with lasers, and hide behind fake blocks, and best of all you don’t need to worry about your make-up or your hair gel, because we all look like brilliant soldiers from the future behind our neoprene and hard plastic armor. Whereas without alcohol, spontaneous suite dance parties are sweaty and uncomfortable, laser tag has the remarkable ability to stand on its own as an enjoyable activity. And, if you want to play drunken laser tag, I’m sure it would be just as fun, and potentially spark more intense competition.
Now, trustworthy juniors and seniors have advised me not to expect much from Yale’s social scene, and say that it is important to know how to “make your own fun.” Whereas I could have interpreted this recommendation as enthusiastic encouragement to masturbate uncontrollably, the first thing that came to mind was ninjas. What better way is there to make your own fun than to become a ninja for a weekend?
Think about the potential for a ninja scavenger hunt. Break into a secret society (without being noticed), buy a sandwich from Gourmet Heaven (without being noticed), drink three forties of Colt 45, leaving the empty bottles on your common room coffee table (without being noticed). Of course, alcohol consumption in this game merely serves as a way for alcoholics to drink alone without feeling like alcoholics, but like ninjas.
The ninja scavenger hunt manages to give a real-life application to the countless hours astrophysicists spend talking about black holes. Like black holes, ninjas cannot be seen, but are known only through the effects of their actions. However, it is more likely that a ninja will change my life than a black hole.
But maybe Yale doesn’t have the money for roller-disco and laser tag. Maybe Yalies are unwilling to be caught in black ninja-like clothing for fear of being labeled “goths” or “people who enjoy wearing clothes that are slimming.” There is another option: the implementation of a bi-monthly “roofie run.” The point of the game is fairly simple. You establish a far away destination. At 2 a.m., hundreds of hopeful racers pop their choice of Tylenol PM, Ambien, or straight up Rophynol. Then, you run. The racer who makes it closest to the finish line by sunrise wins some sort of prize, such as the honor of knowing that most people won’t bother trying to date rape him/her.
Think about how much better Yale would be with laser tag, roller-skating, a ninja scavenger hunt and a roofie run. The slim prospect of having these four beautiful things makes me forget for a moment that this weekend I’ll be stuck wearing a thrift-store blazer, drinking Franzia and eating Kraft Singles at a wine and cheese party that I’ll probably host.
Zachary Fuhrer is an indignant freshman, filled with crazy dreams and the fire of youth.