It was a weekday like any other. I grabbed breakfast at Commons, went to my morning class in LC and then headed over to Davies Auditorium for another riveting lecture with Professor Robert (Z-z-z)inn. But alas, I never made it to “Planets and Stars” that day.
Instead, I learned a valuable lesson on the dramatic effect the weather has on the body of a student desperate for Vitamin D.
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Exiting my morning class, I made the fatal error of leaving through the doors that lead to Old Campus — Yale’s seasonal version of the Sirenum scopuli. I didn’t hear any enchanting music drawing me in, but I was intrigued by a mysterious syrupy voice coming from a window in Lawrance Hall who called me a “rude boy” and asked if I could “get it up.” And although I didn’t spot any winged beauties beckoning me to come near, I did see a few trolls making violent gyrations in what appeared to be a form of dancing.
Either way, it was too much for me to resist.
As I approached the herd of people gathered in the center, I recognized many familiar faces in the crowd — from “sick laxers” and fellow DKE “bros” to members of the highly esteemed Yale quidditch team. (Oh, and that guy with the Indiana Jones whip.) I soon realized that they too had been shipwrecked on the Rolling Rocks and Keystones of treacherous Old Campus.
I took one look at my watch and knew I wasn’t going to make it to my afternoon class. Touché, Old Campus. Touché.
Soon after my experience, I began to wonder just what it is about Old Campus (aside from the weather) that makes partying there so hard to resist.
First, it provides an escape from the grunginess of fraternity houses. No more smell of skunked beer. No more grimy floors covered in dirt. Goodbye, Zeta basement. Hello, blue skies and fresh air.
Second, you can’t throw a football or baseball in your dorm room. And if you can actually throw a football or baseball, your residential college courtyard shouldn’t be able to contain you either. Think of Old Campus as a kind of “field of dreams” for normies.
Third, you can bring your books with you. Let’s face it: You’re not going to get any studying done, but at least this way you feel better about yourself knowing that your books are within reach.
And finally, Alpha Delta Pizza delivers directly to the High Street gate. Just when you thought life couldn’t be better, the Wenzel Guy calls to let you know that the Wenzel you don’t remember ordering has arrived. You think to yourself, “Is the Wenzel Guy some kind of a mind reader?”
And the answer is no. You’re just drunk.