Alumni, or as I like to call them- ghosts of hookups past – invaded our campus, beach, and bar this past weekend, drinking our beer and keeping most of us out of the Grape all day Saturday.
Down here at the beach the flood of alumni brought with them a slew of shenanigans and extra craziness beyond that of our typical weekends. Clearly the Grape was prepared, with security extra tight this weekend. I knew they were all business when the security guard that kicked me and Lisette out of the Grape Friday night didn’t even crack a smile, despite the fact that Lisette had a giant plastic pumpkin on her head and was shaking her butt in front of him as we were escorted out.
I’d like to tell all of you that getting kicked out of the Grape, making a terrible impression in front of all the alumni I haven’t seen in so long was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me on an alumni weekend…but that would be a lie. I’d have to say that honor would go to last year’s alumni weekend. I’ll leave unnecessary details aside, but let’s just say that it’s never a good thing when you realize that the person you made out with all night graduated from good old FU when you graduated from good old junior high school. No big deal.
It could be worse. For example, some people think “Alumni Weekend” just means “Any Alumni Weekend.” Enter graduates of the University of Brazil. Yes, technically you are alumni, but I don’t think that’s what the school was referring to when they started this tradition. It pains me to report that one of my dear friends actually fell victim to one University of Brazil alum’s seduction and has now had to postpone her senior yearbook picture due to a rather unflattering hickey. (Note: at press time, the hickey has been healing nicely, and my friend’s Friday photo shoot should go off without a hitch, presuming she can control her weakness for Latin men until Saturday).
Saturday, for the most part, the Grape was an impossibility, leaving us to make our own fun, which many of us hadn’t done in some time. I’m not complaining- I was ready for a good old fashioned house party. A few funnels, keg stands, flip cup games, and one beach security guard kiss later I knew it was time to quit. I returned to my home to find it had turned into a halfway house for Fairfield Alumni. The alumni had turned my house into their hostel and covered the floor, like they had all just barely made it in the door. It was clear that none of them had drank all day in a while.
Overall, I’ll rate the weekend a 7, mostly because I nearly peed my pants when Lisette and I got kicked out of the bar Friday, and a 3 point deduction for being blocked out of the Grape Saturday and the alumni eating all of my roommate’s pita chips and hummus.
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