Friday, November 7th, 2014

9:30 a.m.: Wake up for your 10 a.m. Give up on your 10 a.m. Last night’s Thirsty Thursday debauchery certainly doesn’t come for free. Your parents, eyes bright, peek into your miniscule Holworthy double. Lie to your parents, saying you received an email that your [insert class that would never be cancelled] lecture was postponed. Roll back into bed, sinking into the deepest parts of slumber you can only enjoy during truancy.

12:05 p.m.: Alright, now that the hour no longer ends in a.m., it’s about time you make some effort (or at least pretend to). Hustle the ‘rents over to your Ec 10 class and assure them that yes, it’s fine if you’re seven minutes late. Awkwardly take a seat in the back of the room and shoot your dad threatening looks every time he makes an attempt to correct your TF.

1:03 p.m.: You and your parents surf the waves of students leaving Ec 10. The line to Annenberg lunch is longer than the line at Tasty Burger at 3 a.m. Spot that  kid from your Expos class whose name  you always forget (David? Davin? Flavius?). Treat your parents to tomato basil ravioli soup; beg them for an increase in your food budget.

2:20 p.m.: Stomachs full, but definitively not satisfied, begin moving your parents out of Annenberg. On the way out, bump into your fumbling hook-up from two weekends ago, the one who fell asleep midway through the experience. Physically cringe as your parents make conversation with his/hers. When they ask how you know each other, mumble something incoherent about a study group.

2:50 p.m.: Finally acquiesce to your parents’ pleas for a tour of the Yard. Gesture broadly at various freshman dorms. To be honest, you still don’t really know the name of half of these buildings. “What’s that one behind John Harvard called?,” mom asks.  You don’t know, but probably should, considering you puked on its steps last week. At the mention of Johnny H, you remember to swat your folks’ hands away from his foot.

4:00 p.m.: Now your parents want to see Widener Library. Harmless enough, you think. You think wrong. While leading them down into the Stacks, freeze when you hear what can’t possibly be, but what necessarily must be, moans. They hear it, too. You see your mother get that glint in her eye. You are suddenly aware of your solid third-wheel status. Leave hurriedly, shouting excuses for your sudden absence as you break into a sprint. Go grab a coffee from ABP as your parents get it on. Allow yourself to shed a tear about the fact that they are closer to completing Harvard’s Three Things than you are.

5:30 p.m.: Upon reuniting with your parents, you run into a group of friends outside of the library. You introduce them to your parents and try to draw attention away from that one guy who’s always day drunk.

6:30 p.m.: This is why your parents are really here: to indulge your disgusting gluttony, to take you out to endless dinners. Grafton Street. Legal Sea Foods. Russell House Tavern. The Red House. You want it all. And you want it now. This is, after all, your only chance at human food for the entire semester.

9:30 p.m.: End dinner only when you legitimately fear you won’t be able to fit into that trendy, in-with-the-teens number you (AKA your parents) just bought for tonight. Watch in satisfaction as your parents foot the bill.

9:45 p.m.: As the numbers on the clock near the double digits, you realize it is nearing your favorite time of day: Turn-up-o’clock. The texts finally start rolling through. Mainly, “What are you up to tonight?” and “Let’s get your parents fucked up.”

10:00 p.m.: In quintessential freshman style, hit up three pre-games, each of which is either overlit and deserted or approximately 110 degrees and sticky with spilled Natty Light. Regardless, they all get shut down within 15 minutes of your arrival. Fight or flight kicks in, and there’s no way in hell you’re fighting the angry proctor who’s threatening to take pics of your ID. Peace out, strobe-light-lit Straus!

11:45 p.m.: Now that all those Fireball shots have made you borderline immobile, you can head to your real destination: a [insert club/varsity sport] banger in Mather. You hear through the grapevine that a friend said her friend’s roommate’s brother’s friend is throwing a “Social Contracts and Sexual Contacts” party.

12:30 a.m.: It’s the a.m. once again, and you wonder how you’ve gone this long without uploading a single drunk Snapchat to your story. You easily remedy this problem. Your BFF watches a snap of you and the ‘rents forming a flip cup superteam and replies with “COME 2 SPEE!!!” At this point, you’re in a more than suggestible mood, so you get the crew back on the road.

1:10 a.m.: A 3-minute walk has stretched into a 40-minute trek, your parents having been warmed by the heartiness that is Rubinoff. Finally, you arrive at the mecca of all freshman girls: the door of the Spee. Predictably, your father gets turned down—gotta keep that 7:1 ratio, you know. Apologetically send him to Tasty Burger with the rest of your guy friends.

1:30: a.m. You’re in, and your mother’s shimmy has still got it. Like flies, final club bros swarm from left and right. It’s your job to swat them away. You are the heroine in this video game, and if you choose to accept and successfully complete the mission, your prize is your parents’ saved marriage. The catch is you are level 12 faded and your XP is dropping at a frightening pace.

2:45 a.m.: That’s it, you’ve had enough of your mom dancing on tables and you absolutely never want to see her drop it that low ever again. In an attempt to escape the suffocating heat and preponderance of drunken females, you stumble back to the entrance into the clear, crisp night.

3:15 a.m.: Ne’er was there a soul returning from the Spee at 3:15 who was not blackout, and you are not one to fight science. Despite having eaten for a small family at dinner time, you tear through all food in sight, being the ravenous drunk that you are. You climb, or fall, rather, into bed fully dressed and, before your head hits the pillow, your final waking thoughts are about where in the world your parents may be. You’re also missing your coat, ID, and wallet, but you won’t notice that until tomorrow morning.

Saturday, Nov. 8:

11:10 a.m.: You awake to the sound of a phone call coming through. Surprise, it’s UHS! (Maybe you should add them to your favorites already?) In a shocking turn of events, it’s not that one irresponsible friend. It’s your parents. Shamefully pick them up from the Mt. Auburn office. Looks like Daddy did one too many keg stands last night.

12:30 p.m.: Pop some Advil and don those shades, because it’s time for drunk brunch. Feast upon Veritaffles and wallow in last night’s poor decisions. You only have a vague sense of what went down after 11:00 p.m., but, luckily, you have your Snapchat story to fill in the blanks. After watching, you sort of wish those blanks hadn’t been filled.

3:15 p.m.: Your parents realize they can’t hang. They get in the taxi for their flight back home, leaving you to work on your p-set alone. Just another weekend. Just another memory for the family scrapbooks.