Miniature dance parties sprouted up and down the line as music seeped through Goodrich’s walls, and we inched our way towards the entrance of First Fridays. That is until they (or perhaps you) came, a tipsy nest of people flowing up the hill, moving past the back of the line, Security, and finally me, before landing squarely alongside the front of the line. This drunken hive grew in size until it became an intoxicated swarm whose buzz could only be interpreted by the collective refrains, “No, it’s okay. Don’t you get it, I KNOW him!” or better yet, “Who cares! They’re just freshmen!” Denying myself the use of sharp elbows and crowbar, I watched any opportunity for Goodrich’s First Fridays collapsing before me into a disarray of unrestrained entropy and raw self-entitlement. I left, just as Leah Shoer’09 did last week (Opinions, Sept. 10).
I know my first-years were on the verge of having an absolutely miserable time – that is, before they unveiled their fantastical powers of unbridled energy and festive ingenuity (Mills-Dennett 2 threw a dance party that was kickin’ . . . and everyone was invited). I also noticed that some first-years saw what was happening at Goodrich and decided to join the crowd, which wasn’t an entirely great lesson: if you can’t beat Ã¢â‚¬Ëœem then join Ã¢â‚¬Ëœem. Right?
This is something of a plea, or a request, depending on how you’d like to receive it. Upperclassmen, you are the example; in striking fashion, you decide what works at this place, what flies and what sinks. So think of it as something powerful, a tool with which you can do many things; next time you see that unsuspecting first-years, unaware or otherwise lost, will you take advantage for personal gain or be a guide?
And first-years, thanks for reading this far. Believe me, this is a wonderful place, one that like every institution and community has its own wrinkles to iron. If you see or experience something that strikes you in any way, wrong, unjust, beautiful, warm, absolutely crazy, trust your feelings; chances are, you’ve gotten ahold of something. You are the future of this college community, and don’t let the unknowing drunkards at First Fridays sway you otherwise.
Alan Arias ’10