Today is our college’s “victory party”. Though it’s paradoxical to throw a party for consistently being the sixth place during the Intramural, it has been our tradition.
Hence, the party had begun. Although it might not seem to be like it, I’ve always been the antisocial type. I don’t do well in large groups, all the more in large crowds. So while the party people started making chaos out of the science building, I decided to seclude myself inside the math department, literally “chillin‘” in front of the air conditioner.
I occasionally go outside to join the fun of course. I’m not that antisocial. Since we served finger foods in a buffet and I am too lazy to join the anarchy that the buffet table has become, I settled on robbing hotdog slices from everyone I know. It seemed that I knew a lot of people since before I knew it, I’m already gorged. Thus, I went back to my “comfort zone” again to rest, like a typical predator who had just finished devouring its prey. Little did I knew, that my party had just started.
For some reasons, the liquors that are to be served are inside the math department. Who knows who brought them there, but it’s right there in front of my eye. I always had low tolerance in resisting alcohol. When it’s there in front of me, I chug it without having second thoughts. But now,in front of me is a fucking pool of liquor that’s enough to drown the alcohol-thirsty drunkard fuck out of me. But no sea shall stop this king from conquering the world! And just like Leonidas who’s words were imprinted in the statement shirt that I’m wearing, tonight I shall dine (or drink) in hell! So I grabbed a glass, shoveled some ice into it, and poured me self a drink.
Seven glasses, five vodka-immersed gummy bears and three shots later, I felt that something was wrong. I started talking more frequently. I got perpetually ill tempered. I started losing balance when I walk. I started to react more slowly to stimulus. I got drunk. It’s technically unethical since we are getting drunk inside an educational institution. But I kept a blind eye since our adviser was behind this and our dean approves it, or some parts of the activity for that matter. It was all fun and games, until the department chairman arrived.
There was a sudden change in the atmosphere. Horrifying, yes that’s the right word to describe it. You can feel it as soon as he opens the door. No, maybe you can feel it as soon as someone tells you “He’s here”. I hurriedly hid the vodka bottle that I’m holding under the table. He enters the door. Instantaneously I knew; I’m fucked. Our adviser was quick on the response, he started cleaning the mess that we made with the department office while I remained there standing in fear – and lost sobriety. But maybe even if I were black-out drunk, I think that look on his face as soon as he enters the door will still register in my memory. It was disgust. Although, there is that anger that is brewing somewhere inside him, waiting to loom. I can feel it. Our adviser can feel it. Everyone inside the room can feel it. There were little conversations. He tried some of the snacks that we served, then he left.
There was a sigh of relief. But not long after we had a few deep breaths, he came back. And this time, we know for sure – He’s mad. Everybody rattled. The target of questioning was me. “Who’s in charge with this event” he asked. The terror was so much I went from wasted to sober in a split second. Who am I going to hold responsible? The president? Our adviser? I don’t know. Then he had started on his lecture on “The unethical use of educational facilities and the desecration of the office of the mathematics department, with ‘who’s in charge with the tables’“. Everyone was stricken with fear, that as soon as he ordered, the chaos then suddenly started coming back to order. What power does his words has? Nobody can measure.
And that concludes our party this year. We started restoring things, as our anarchist constituents went to their respective places to live. I went home with a 4 kilo spaghetti, a bottle of vodka, a can of pineapple juice, and the uncertainty of my graduation.