Claire Heininger | Friday, January 23, 2004
Happy anniversary. That’s right, it’s been exactly one year since 230 of my underage drinking buddies and I heard the music cut out, saw the lights come on, and felt our invincible little worlds come crashing down. For the first anniversary, it’s tradition to give your significant other some form of paper. But after the smudged blue Minor in a Tavern tickets, the tauntingly rosy court summons, the emblem-stamped white ResLife letters and the add-insult-to-injury yellow lawsuits, newsprint is all I have left – so here goes.Happy anniversary to the urban legends: the townies who tipped off the cops (false) and the girl who snuck out after hiding behind the fridge for five hours (true). Happy anniversary to the lucky ones, the regulars who were there with us every single Thursday – except of course this one – because of an early accounting test or a late out-of-town visitor arrival or just because the universe liked them better.Happy anniversary to that bouncer with no front teeth who looked the other way when two of my fake ID-less friends and I decided to skip the shivering wait for passbacks and oh-so-slyly sidle in the back door. Happy anniversary to whoever invented watered-down dollar pitchers and made inducing the white boys to go upstairs and dance so affordable. Happy anniversary to the crowd that packed the usual sweat-soaked second-floor double in Dillon before we called the cabs, descended the stairs, and skidded to Main Circle in a euphoria of Cam’ron, Madonna and Styx. Happy anniversary to my mom, whose tone on the other end of the phone line the next morning I will never forget. Happy anniversary to my dad, whose insistence that I pay every penny of every fine was somehow less upsetting than the look on his face when we met the lawyer on the last day of finals week.Happy anniversary to Ashley, my best friend and partner in crime who gleefully drank kamikazes with me that night, jokingly posed for “mug shots” with me the next morning, and grudgingly but realistically accompanied me on our 40 hours of community service that April. And finally, happy anniversary to Boat Club itself. Yes, it’s suing a lot of us for a lot more than it deserves to get and a lot more than we can afford. But to give credit where credit is due, people are going back for a reason. Patronage now surpasses even pre-bust levels. Students are once again having a great time. And Boat is getting the kind of paper it most craves for its first anniversary present. Greenbacks.