Already ticked off for not getting to enjoy the "Swamp," the soggy noodles in my hair did little to improve my mood.
And my night continued to deteriorate. We stalled again behind Tommy's, where assorted drunken antics ensued. At this point I broke into my whiny voice, normally an effective tool.
I thought we were going to be okay when we were headed up Plympton Street and the Yard was in sight. But then an older guy popped his head out of an ornate door and said, "You girls wanna come in?" My hopes crumbled.
Before I knew it, the four of us were inside one of the eight all-male final clubs.
Inside, the building was mostly empty. Five guys offered us glasses of beer from their keg; against my protests, my roommates accepted quite willingly. Then two of the guys offered tours--one from the bottom of the club up and another from the top floor down. As quickly as I could, I flitted from one group to the other, fretting all the way. Sketchiness would not occur on my watch.
After an hour and a half of flipping out, I finally convinced them to leave. But just as we were about to finally get some rest, one roommate jumped a pizza delivery guy and got us a free pie. I gave up on trying to stop her.
Sitting on the stoop outside Holworthy munching on bread and grease, I was disgusted with myself and my vision of freshman year. I would pretend to be like these other girls, who were having the time of their lives, but I would never have fun because I was in constant worrywart mode.
And, for a few months, it was just like that.
Looking back, my roommates probably started growing out of first-year girl syndrome, a common virus, sometime in October. When we went out, they were much less naive about how to protect themselves.
Maybe they needed me that first week. And there were certainly other nights when I fortunately managed to pull them out of a sticky situation. But these were grown women who, really, could take care of themselves. My role became unnecessary.
It took me a good three months to figure out, but college can be a lot of fun if you're not the party monitor. Social life can be extremely confusing for first-years, especially for ones that never really drank in high school.
Alcohol introduces a slew of added dangers and it's vital--especially for girls--to watch out for your friends. When you're watching overgrown teenagers instead of adorable tykes, babysitting loses its charm, but it's a fact of college life. Just don't let it become your entire life.
If you're like my roommates were, try not to overdo it. And if you're like me, be a friend but also realize that college is your chance to have a good time too. Don't waste it by fussing over people who don't really need or want your help.
And every now and then, take your turn at being the baby. Just be responsible about it--a few noodles never hurt anybody.
Victoria C. Hallett '02 is a history concentrator in Winthrop House.