Freshman Misses Drinking in Frat Basements While at Home Drinking in Friend's Basement

“Why is my body moisture-free? I’m able to listen to whatever songs I want—good music, even— how is that? I’m surrounded by people I care about instead of people with whom I’ll create fabricated relationships in which we ignore each other except for on Friday and Saturday nights. But... Why?”

This was only part of the inner monologue that Kevin Summers (W ’21) worked through this weekend while visiting his hometown of Chatham, NJ.

After a grueling few months of studying, losing everything he owned, and dealing with pests, Summers was ready for some TLC at home. He also really missed bragging to his high school bros about going to an Ivy, so he was stoked to hear his buddy Jack was throwing a party the night after Thanksgiving.

Summers was comfortably chatting with a few of his friends, Fireball pint in hand, when the existential crisis occurred. He looked down, wondering why he was wearing a very normal outfit of jeans and a sweater instead of a neon outfit splattered in paint. He held out his arms to his sides, and he wasn’t touching seven other people. In fact, he wasn’t touching anyone at all. Glancing at the Fireball, he asked himself why he was able to pour his own drinks instead of allowing a guy in the sophomore class to do the honors.

Summers ran out of his friend's house, called an Uber home, and went clubbing by himself for the rest of the weekend. It wasn't perfect, because the drinks weren't disgusting, but it was the closest thing around to the sweaty, claustrophobic frat basement experience.