Residence Life (the Drinkers episode

Flash back to the first day of school. Flash into the Don’s room that’s twice as big as any other frosh’s.

“John Price?” asks the Don.

“Here,” goes up a hand, and the Don checks off on the board.

“Lola Point?”

“Here,” creaks a soft voice, and the Don checks off another one, followed by a slow smile.

“Sorry. I really don’t know how to pronounce this. I apologize in advance for a possible butchering of your name. Young….fat…young fat choi?” said the Don in a semi-confident tone.

“Wow, you really butchered that one”, quipped a frosh, and the room bursted into laughter.

The Don smiled, and then shook his head, “Smart ass.” Then he looked around again, and asked, “Young…fat…choi?” No response. Putting down the list of his responsible froshes on to the windowsill behind him, he wiped his face to get rid of his fatigue before he faced us all again to lay down the age-old rules of respect—things that have long been familiar to me. Only one new rule jumped out.

“Guys, this is the last rule,” said the Don in a lower voice. “If you are not over nineteen, don’t drink. Not only is my job on the line, but possible consequences for you guys aren’t that great either.”

Even though he said that, people still drank. Parties still raved loud during the night, until one night one of the other floor’s Dons got fed up with it, and told our Don to watch our kids more closely. The deafening music itself echoed throughout the halls, since the walls were made of third-rate wood; the bass from the party exerted its vibrations forcefully enough to pulsate the chairs and tables of the adjacent rooms; the drunkards themselves floundered around the halls and swore louder than the noisy Sean Paul. Sometimes the drunkards themselves would race each other down the staircase. Sometimes they succeed. Often times, I would hear some sort of tripping noise, and banging of the walls.

Slowly the word got to the Don’s boss, and my Don felt the heat, which cascaded down to our residence section. We got another serious talk. I can’t recall too closely what happened because I wasn’t really close with the people who partied 24-7. What I do remember faintly is that the minors faced some sort of suspension or expulsion from the residence.

Though in the end, nobody was penalized, it was something to be remembered amidst the joys of first year.

ROFL. Sounds like you had fun. My first frosh drinking experience took place in the middle of nowhere *sleepover camp* cow farm with a bonfire next to a lake throwing up in some girl's shoe.