My Night at a North Campus Party
SOUTH CAMPUS NON-ATHELTIC REAL PERSON // APRIL 27, 2018
After pregaming with my closest friends, Gin and Tonic, I approached North Campus cautiously. My friends and I had heard that there was a “South Campus” party, except the gimmick was that this time it was on North Campus. Like anyone trying to use OberView ever, I was confused. But like any good drunk, I followed the crowd. We passed North Quad, where some shirtless frisbee players continued to do the one thing that they do best, make it clear to everyone around them that frisbee is their thing and they want you to know that. Once my cohort actually reached the Goldsmith apartments, the athlete complex of houses that make up the closest thing Oberlin has to greek life, chaos erupted.
My group of unathletic and apathetic friends, who could never understand why anyone would spend time and energy doing something that doesn’t explicitly fall within their interests, were quick to judge the athletes we passed. It was like a whole different world, North Campus during partytime is like stepping onto a movie set at the University of Kentucky, except all of the actors didn’t rehearse their lines and the movie didn’t have much of a budget so the whole set-up didn’t actually work. Distracted by some sort of bright light in the distance, I accidentally stumbled into a portal to another dimension. By walking into the wrong Goldsmith apartment, I had landed myself right in the middle of a new world.
Once I entered this party, I noticed rowdy athlete boys jumping around doing chest bumps shouting at the top of their lungs about macroeconomics homework and the one internship at Berkshire Hathaway that the entire Lacrosse team is going for. I was engaged, curious how an entire segment of the Oberlin student body had decided to focus their collective intelligence to create one stronger and smarter Economics student.
Suddenly, I heard the smashing of a glass bottle behind me and I turned around to see a girl wearing a tiara holding a destroyed bottle of vodka in her hand. I seemed to be the only one who has even noticed, the athletes around me were seemingly desensitized by the loud noise of each of their own voices. I however made eye contact with the girl, and in the moment she made eye contact with me I realized that my athlete passing privilege had worn off and she knew instantly that I was not one of her kind. I worried that she would say something, alert the rest of the group that I was not one of them, unfamiliar with the art of the tailgate and undedicated to the art of shotgunning PBR in between the lift and Intro to Biology. Instead, she looked at me dead in the eye, and sternly said “What the fuck are you looking at, its my birthday.” I knew she was right, it was her birthday, and I, merely a NARP in her athletic world, had no idea what that truly meant.
I had heard rumor that in athlete world, when it’s your birthday, its like the purge, you can do whatever you want and nobody can judge you. It was at that point when my friends began to call, apparently I had dropped off the Find My Friends app and was stuck in a Bermuda Triangle of Oberlin Campus. I ran out of the Goldsmith apartment and ran back to my group of friends. I told them that we needed to stay together and never come back to North Campus again.