Oh Melancholia! How I Felt When I Learned That I Was Excluded From the Hill 1-Green “Fake IDs” Group Chat

There are certain rites of passage that no freshman should be deprived of regardless of their criminal record, BMI, immigration status, age, medical history, etc. Among those we have becoming executor for one’s parents’ estate, fuzzily consensual intercourse, getting lit in Wawa on Market and 33rd, and, of course, being granted access to the wet market (see US Prohibition era doctrine to understand). The US gets pretty much everything right, but we are completely backwards and third world with respect to our drinking laws. How at the ripe age of 17 and 11/12ths am I considered a legally consenting adult and yet I can’t for the life of me or the homeless woman who refused to buy me alcohol at a 5% interest rate get my hands on any of that good good or that wet wet? I’m not even talking hard core. I’m talking poppers baby, booze man. 

But I don’t like to get political. It’s the law and I can’t change it. Besides, we freshmen have our ways of circumventing it. Well, I thought that 'we' were a royal we. That is until I learned that the Hill 1 Green floor is just a bunch of wee wees. Here’s what went down: 

One fine August night, we were all congregating in the lounge adjacent to the Hill laundry room. It was a scene of brotherly love. I held my roommate’s hand, no homo though. Our buddy Joe kept saying, “I fucking love you guys. You guys are so sexy. I fucking love you.” The guys from Hill 2 Red were enlightening us. “I have MATH 1400. EASY DUBS.” “SHUT THE FUCK UP JOSH. I have WRIT 069: Erotica Studies at 12pm.” I said, “Hey fellas, I hate to interrupt but we gotta get down to business. I’ve heard that the true dagers happen legally. I’m not trying to ‘catch a case,’ would you guys be down to go for a group order of fakes?” To that, my comrades all said, “HELL YEAH BRUH.” 

Turns out they were a group order of fakes in their own right. 

I’ve always preached equality as a value. I guess you could say that’s why I decided to major in math. Thus, because I'd made the first move, I decided that the ball was now in their court and I would wait for someone to start the order and a group chat. But that day never came to fruition. 

I waited and I waited. I even picked up crocheting as a hobby to ease the passage of time. But it was all to no avail. One day, in my ECON 0100 (in case I want to go to Wharton) class I looked over at Josh’s laptop and found that he and the boys were texting nonstop in a group chat curiously entitled “Fake IDs.” At first, I gave them the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps, this was a stunt to give me a free fake, thanks to my genius intuition. But as the texts fired away, I realized that this was surely not the case. The boys kept sending cropped headshots, generic Ohio addresses, emphasized heights, weights, eye colors, you name it. 

Oh melancholia! This rite of passage had passed right out of my hands. Until next year, Harrison floor 7.