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Have I mentioned being busy? Yeah? Well, I won't bore you with it again... Man, am I busy. Sorry. The other night was our first "Div Pub". The undergrads at Trinity (the Div faculty is a small minority of the total Trin population) hold a pub every week. It's basically a kegger plus mixed drinks, tucked into one of the common rooms in the old building. I guess it's a way of making sure the students stay safe while still getting blotto. They can drink all they want and just stumble across the quad to sleep...or have messy, drunk sex. Whichever. Precisely how the Div students became involved in pub night remains something of a mystery to me, but we sponsor two of these parties a year. That means we buy the booze (and a liquor license thank you, officer) and sell it to the undergrads...so we're feeding the rampant, college drinking culture. We also hire a DJ to play "house music" (an odd name, as I'd not play that music in my house) and keep the lights low...so we're also enabling the illicit sexual activity of inebriated youth. The Divinity students are hosting this, mind. Conflict of interest? Or is it just good business, providing the conditions in which people can sin and then offering absolution? Like serving salty snacks at a bar. The party life is so not my scene it's just funny that I was in any way involved. Imagine the guy who hangs out in the corner, looking miserable and alone, being one of the people throwing the party. Oh, yeah...this'll be fun. A wild child I am not, nor is my fellow co-head, so we'd elected another Div to organize the entire affair. He did an admirable job considering the circumstances - what do you mean we're hosting a pub this week? - but I ended up being there for most of the time anyway, if for nothing other than moral support and another warm body. Word on the street (or in the quad) is that Div Pubs are the best pubs of the year. I've no idea what makes them good - perhaps they're just blessed - but the undergrads all seem to agree that we host the best par-tay. And so it was on Thursday that a room designed to hold maybe 50 people was jammed with over a hundred happily gyrating, drunk kids. No, no...nobody underage. They were all nineteen or older, officer. I say kids because, at my advanced age, they all look twelve to me. Every pub has a theme, it seems, and this one's was pirates. You'd be surprised how little clothing a 20 year old woman can wear and still call it a pirate costume. Anyhow, part of the fun was temporary tattoos (no, I'm not going there...though the kids did) so I had a skull tattooed on my forehead. I was also dressed all in black and dark grey, the closest I could come to pirate clothes while still wearing a tie. That explains why, as I boarded the streetcar home at 2:30am, a group of Goth kids were all friendly to me...they thought I was Corporate Goth Man. "No, I'm not wearing white make-up; I'm just deathly ill from lack of sleep." See? Back to whinging about being busy. |
