IT MIGHT JUST AS WELL have been another big football weekend at Harvard. The lines at the liquor stores in Cambridge spilled into the streets on Friday morning. Students scurried about, toting bags filled with pretzels and cheese doodles. Others gathered on street corners to discuss where the parties would be held. "There's gonna be a big bash down by the river, I think," said an eager junior. "A keg, maybe two."

"We never see this kind of business," said a clerk in one Harvard Square liquor store. "Yale Weekend gets this busy with all the kids lining up for supplies. But hurricanes? Well this is a first, and we're not complaining."

Funny thing, a hurricane. Winds whip at gale force. Massachusetts shuts down and prepares for the worst. And at Harvard, Gloria is cause for celebration. For the first time since the blizzard of 1978, and only the third this century, the University closed its doors. And the student body, well, it responded in good form.

State of Emergency? Nonsense. Just ask the students playing frisbee in staggering winds at the Quad, or the daredevils in front of Kirkland lofting footballs skyward as tree limbs crashed to ground nearby. In Adams House, residents feted Gloria with wine, cheese and Beethoven in the lower common room. And down by the Charles, Gloria's admirers were practicing the backstroke. No one dares dive into the tubercular river muck even on sunny days. But during a hurricane? Why not?

"This is my first," said a Californian, sipping Bud and surveying the twisted trees bending in the wind. "Why sit indoors? None of the soaps are on TV. Why watch the news when you can see the hurricane with your own eyes?" Danger? "Who cares about flying roofs and airborne automobiles," said the student, clad in his finest hurricane garb: shorts, a t-shirt and Ray-Bans. "I've got eyes, I can duck." Nice shades.

With school already in its second week and study cards due, there seemed to be a perverse consensus on campus last week that a natural disaster would wipe away all worries.

"An earthquake just wouldn't have done it," said a junior. "I needed all of Friday off," said a senior, still hunting for courses and looking for a thesis topic. "An entire day to figure out what I'm gonna do with this year and to play Trivial pursuit. All right."

"What a way to start," said one freshman, leaning into the wind. "Where better to ride out a hurricane than in Harvard Yard?" Oh, to be a frosh again.

Alas, when the winds died down, the beer had been consumed, and students had a chance to reflect, most were unimpressed with the hurricane. At an Eliot House dinner table, several juniors and seniors lamented that Gloria had not fulfilled her promise. "Did you know they evacuated the Leverett and Mather Towers?" someone asked. "Big deal, so Harvard has a bunch of refugees," someone answered.

"I was expecting more death and destruction," said one senior, reaching for her Diet Coke. "I was expecting more rain," said another. "I was expecting more flying livestock," said a junior.

Livestock? "You know, like in the Wizard of Oz? Feathers everywhere. Pigs impaled on trees."

YES, FRIDAY was truly an extraordinary day. For the first time in 47 years, a hurricane had made it to Harvard Square. The excitement was tremendous. School was canceled; history seemed to be in the making. The wind blew. Trees fell. Leaves flew. And people waited. Uneasy anticipation. Something was going to happen...

But Winthrop never flew away, the Leverett Tower was still standing, and no one spotted the Wicked Witch pedaling at 10,000 feet. Saturday came; the Sun was out, Harvard beat U.Mass, and Gloria was gone.

Conversation overheard at breakfast:

Person 1: "Wild day yesterday, huh?"

Person 2: "Yeah, dude, I really had it rough. Goddamn Gloria. Too many parties. I couldn't deal."

Bummer.