Morgantown, W.Va.: Here's the Party

Guy at bar: "Oh. Are you here to get [lucky]?"

Sara: "Excuse me?"

Bar guy: " 'Cause if you're here to get [lucky], you should go across the street. This place is more chill."

We are appalled. And go straight across the street. (Research, etc.) Bent Willey's, it's called. And this is where the mini-existential crisis comes in. How, how, am I here right now? (And, come on, who puts a step down first thing after an entryway? That door should open with a laugh track.)

Forget Greek life. The Miller Lites are free till 11 throughout the rest of the bar, and it's here that we meet Russell Hall, a senior business major who's kind enough to sum up the WVU party phenomenon: "We don't study. Drinks are cheap. Our football team is amazing, and these women are beautiful."

Thanks, Russell Hall. Time check, Sara.

"It's not even 10."

Cripes. College crashing is some work. (God, did I just want to be home with a couch and a magazine, though, and maybe a new Glade PlugIn for kicks.)

Anyway, Russell Hall says we at least have to stay out until midnight when they play "Country Roads" in every bar.

So we do. Our next stop is a gigantic place called De Lazy Lizard, where there's a band playing and lots of good, sloppily fighting couples to observe. Then on to Gibbie's Pub for a little live-band karaoke. It seems they like their rock music in Morgantown, but they love their John Denver. Kind of sweet, really.

In truth, a lot of it is kind of sweet. At midnight this town is full of people having good times, singing and dancing and not worrying about what comes next. Best, probably, to leave before there's a bar fight.

We sleep soundly and wake with the smell of smoke in our hair.

Over egg salad sandwiches at the Blue Moose Cafe, we read the local papers. One has a headline about a DUI simulator brought in for students. The other features a story -- and photo -- about the "late-night vomiters" who leave their mark on the city's sidewalks. (Egg salad = bad decision.) We say our goodbyes to fair Morgantown and hit the road, wondering when that merciless song will stop running through our heads. (Still wondering.)

A few days later, I hear that Daniel Paepke, a friend of a friend, recently made the same journey, to see his younger brother, now a WVU senior. I called to compare notes.

Paepke and his crew spent most of the night trying not to get [lucky] at Bent Willey's.

"Everyone else was dancing and running around. We're sticking out because we're sitting there," he said. "I'm pretty sure people were like, 'Who are these old people and why are they here?' "

Wait, and you're how old?

"Twenty-five."