Morgantown, W.Va.: Here's the Party
Wednesday, October 31, 2007; Page C02
You know those moments that come out of nowhere and demand you stop and seriously consider every twist of fate that brought you to a certain place and point in time?
Okay, here's one.
My friend Sara and I are wearing our best bluejeans and trying to crash a frat party in Morgantown, W.Va. All the cool kids are in there. We get into the bar okay, but the mixer's in a private room and the doors are closed and we forgot to wear white baby-doll T's that will glow in the black light as people pass marking pens and sign each other's chests.
We've made a friend, though, and beg her to sneak us in. She's a little worried, 'cause it's definitely only supposed to be friends of the FiJi guys, but if we're casual about things, it should be okay.
I open the door and walk in. And by walk, I mean fall. Loudly. Dramatically. Like Mary Katherine Gallagher, but without the rebound.
The heads turn, the cloud of dry ice parts and Sara leans in with this: "I don't want to know you right now."
Yeah, thanks. That makes about 70 of us, including the dudes working the DJ booth.
* * *
Right. Let's back up.
I am 28 years old. I started college a decade ago and have had plenty of time to forget what it was like. At one point during my time there, the state university I attended in New York held the prestigious title of Biggest Party School in the nation, an honor that has since been returned -- once again -- to West Virginia University.