College parties are always romanticized either in movies or in the daydreams of incoming undergrads . The quintessential college party is freedom personified. Many see American party culture as a departure from classiness-something not foreseen by past generations, but I somewhat disagree. No, today’s parties aren’t exactly classy affairs. But they do mean something, even if they do seem shallow on the surface.
Even our founding fathers would contend that these college parties are an embodiment of American ideals like freedom, liberating oneself from the oppression of authority and, in this case, textbooks. I would bet that Benjamin Franklin himself would be doing keg-stand after keg-stand. And before he hunted vampires, Lincoln probably chased after women.
I’m not much of a partier , nor will I ever be, and it’s mainly due to the fact that I don’t drink. I never really understood why my peers seemed so excited when they talked about their drinking plans for the weekend. I’d much rather be in bed watching a documentary or at a café with a good friend-not with 30 other sweaty drunk people (probably all dudes) whom I know nothing about. Normally, I politely turn down Facebook invitations to parties at downtown clubs that promise a 7-to-1 female-to-male ratio. Although, that’s not surprising considering my religion-we Muslim men cannot accept anything less that a 72-to-1 ratio. However, I saw the occasion of a friend’s 21st birthday as an exception to that rule.
One of the most sacred aspects of American party culture is the pre-gaming ritual. I wanted to make sure I was in top physical condition for that night, so I started my pre-game routine with a one-hour nap, followed by a documentary- Freakonomics . That may not have been the best idea-I found myself trying to discuss the economic side in what was previously a conversation based purely on pop culture. Be it needlessly said, women wanted me…to leave them alone.
After a series of failed conversations, I began to feel a little frustrated. I started to wonder why I had even come in the first place. Everyone was only there to drink and find someone to hook up with-it was haram , and I wanted no part in it. I was ready to leave. Not to mention the awful music, which raises the question: Does anyone listen to dubstep at a reasonable volume? Maybe I still had a chance to catch the last bit of ABC Family’s Harry Potter weekend marathon.
My friends convinced me to stay, I sat on a futon in the corner and pretended to be interested in a nearby game of beer pong. This game was different though, quite innovative I must admit. Instead of facing your opponent and trying to score in their cup, you face your teammate at opposite corners of the table and bounce the ball to their chest and into the cups on their side. I could see yet another original and fast-paced game at another table. This one involved counting change-a mix between quarters and flip-cup; I think I was more impressed by the sight of drunk students doing math.
There’s no way these games could be created in a drunken state. I laughed to myself, imagining students hunched over table schematics and calculations of the trajectories ping-pong balls in an effort to invent the next big drinking game.
I started to get over myself. I felt guilty for placing myself above people who were doing nothing other than having fun. Instead of bridging a cultural gap, I had instead placed myself on a pedestal, and it was time to come down.
After becoming more open to the experience, I found myself not only tolerating the party, but I was actually having fun. I joined in on a card game, but like any other game at the party, this one had its rules. Simply put: you’re going to end up drinking. The players invited me in knowing I had no intention of drinking, but they did make me pantomime the act of taking shot after shot.
By the end of the night I had deep discussions about which DJ remixes were the best and what I thought about the Egyptian revolution with people I had just met. All it took was openness to experience.
