Picture this:
You arrive at the door.
You've come from the furthest reaches of the Sem, or maybe even from one of the neighboring houses.
You wait anywhere between two and 10 minutes for the door to be opened by a sweaty, out of breath person, who has burst from the chaos within, giving you 30 seconds to scramble by each other before the door alarms go off.
You have arrived in the courts party.
If you're lucky and know someone who lives there, you scamper to their room to play games drop your coat and chitchat, maybe grab a drink from the host, and then...
It begins.
You make your way to the common room, the lower level, the pit where you are met by an incredible scene.
You don't know whether to be terrified or stoked out of your freakin' mind!
You bob and weave your way through the bodies with your party buddies (because, as in any dangerous situation: no man left behind) and you find your own space to occupy.
It might be the bench next to the window, it might be the corner, the middle of the room or even on the counter (it's been done before).
And then: it really begins.
The flashing lights, the flailing, those two kids who you kind of know from that one class viciously making out all along the wall.
You see that one guy from your orientation group wander around and around the room.
You see things that fascinate you that you hoped you would never see in your life.
You see tall guys wearing backpacks, knowing full well that they're full of beers to be opened and chugged.
Biddie skirts abound, someone keeps accidentally turning on the lights, causing everyone to either take a second to look at the person they're dancing with or mackin' on, or to scream and look away like a vampire in the sun.
But you dance on, oh weekend warrior!
Your blood pumping with Keystone or Rubinoff or hopefully something more classy, you fist pump your way through the night, trying not to touch too, too many people.
Maybe you're just out with the pals, maybe you're dancing with that cutie you've been interested in all semester, or maybe swinging your hips with a rando—it is complete and utter chaos, a reckless abandonment of dignity and/or morals.
As 1 a.m. rolls around, someone who lives there turns on the lights or the RA comes in and breaks everything up, and everyone floods out, booking it to the Hill to satisfy their drunchies.
You stumble home and debrief over hot honey tenders and mac and cheese bites, memories and your dignity slowly coming back to you before you fall into bed with dreams of brunch and crispy cubes dancing in your head.
But these are your adventures: your weekend paradise and quest.
We salute you, oh goers of courts parties, tiny dancers and DJs alike!
Don't miss it too much while we're on break...
