I woke up last Wednesday morning and could feel the excitement in the air; it was the first senior night of the school year, my first senior night as a senior, and the first excuse to drink near campus! The feeling was even better than Christmas morning! I spent my day yearning for the luxurious, comfortable oasis of a sauna that is Amity. When someone would step on my foot on college walk, or spill their drink on me as they scooched around my desk in a crowded lecture, I would be transported to all my past claustrophobic, sweaty panic attacks in the Amity downstairs bathroom, and excitement would flood my veins. Nothing could have prepared me for the horrors that were to come.
I made my way to the front of the line at Amity with ease. I mean, I am a senior now after all, what is that worth if I can’t push a freshman just to feel something? But something about Amity wasn’t filling the hole in my heart where campus bars reside, so I made my way over to 1020. Again, as a senior, on senior night, who is over 21, and drinks responsibly. But then, it happened. A moment that would come to define the evening and the rest of my senior year: I was promptly rejected from entering. I looked through the bars of my jail cell: that velvet rope separating me from the world as I knew it. My Christmas was stolen from me. I made heavy eye contact with the freshmen frolicking inside, and my heart dropped to my feet. I have yet to recover.
Freshman year, at age 17, while sitting inside said bar, someone bet me 100 dollars that no one had ever been denied entrance to 1020. Well, Max (another transfer lost to Brown), I will hunt you down. Pay up.
