Every Saturday night, a bunch of folks hole up in one room and play “Caps” (don’t ask, ‘cuz I don’t know the details…) and drink themselves into oblivion. Last night, the weekly drinking party was held on my floor. Imagine my joy. I’m not exaggerating on the “oblivion” part, whatever my own… feelings… on the subject of alcohol. I went to the bathroom about 01:00, and a girl just shoved past me as I was walking in and stumbled toward the stall, spewing just before she reached the toilet. All I could think was that I would not want to have my face and hands near were people put their bare asses regularly, particularly given that the bathrooms haven’t been cleaned since Wednesday.
Rose isn’t a dry campus, by any means, but underage drinking requires a bit of discretion–namely, don’t hang all out in the halls and shit, bothering people. Last night, they were hanging out in the halls, but they weren’t bothering anyone. The drunk fuckers with the goddamn motherfucking mallet downstairs bothered us more (Bridget actually went down there and yelled at them before we went to bed). I swear those asswads picked the floor of my room to pound on, most likely due to my chomping nuts about it a couple of weekends ago.
I’m not really surprised by the amount of drinking that goes on around here. Actually, I don’t think the level is terribly high, as these parties don’t happen on weekday nights, and there usually aren’t more than about 15 people (freshmen) in attendance at one party. That’s not really bad.
But who isn’t looking to relieve stress on the weekends, right? You buckle down and study and make friendly and pass tests all week, and on the weekend, you just want something different. Different for me tends to be of the reading/writing/long walks/loud music/playing SimCity variety, but it’s all in the interests of having fun.
But that girl with her face in the commode? I couldn’t bring myself to care much at all if she might be seriously sick. Maybe she is a new drinker, and doesn’t know her limits yet. Maybe she’s a veteran, and just lost control. I figured if something serious happened, I would hear about it the next morning, went into a stall a couple doors down, did my business, and left without checking on her. I was glad I hadn’t had anything for dinner, as the sound of retching is enough to get my stomach heaving.
This morning, I was also glad I didn’t see her face, and thus don’t know who she is. It’s bad enough that I got close enough to recognize two of the party-goers. I need to work on this whole disgust-disdain thing. It’s not like smoking–they aren’t killing me, too. A little compassion wouldn’t kill me.