S*** You’re Too Old for at Purdue University
Remember how you used to be able to spend the entirety of syllabooze week at paint parties and toga parties galore? You used to be a legend; staying out until 3:00a.m. and still making it to your morning recitation session, even if you were still a little drunk. Now, after only a few Jägerbombs, you’re ready to fall into bed. Boiler up, hammer(ed) down. Is it even possible to be “too old” for anything by the age of 21? Yes. At Purdue, yes it is.
“Jersey Tuesdaaaaaaay,” screams some ditzy sophomore chick you know from bio lab as she holds herself up on the wall of the women’s bathroom for the classic JT photo op. These words alone remind you of the Shrek-green Four Loko and stomach acid cocktail you projectile vomited onto Chad in Sig Chi freshman year that got you blacklisted. Yikes. You’re still recovering from Cactus LAST Thursday. Jesus Christ, can’t these kids wait like, at least 5 minutes before needing to drink again?
By junior or senior year, you will want to strangle every single one of your hallmates – like the one weird bitch who puts noise complaints in the floor GroupMe if you so much as hiccup in your room, or the creepy dude who’s always yelling at nobody and blasting shitty EDM. Plus, with res life comes the dining courts, where you have to deal with every freshman scooping food onto their plates at the speed of dial-up internet. Scoop some corn on your plate and keep moving down the line, Ashley, it ain’t that hard.
Oh, yes. You got a big ol’ hoot out of watching the crazies on Memorial Mall spew verbal diarrhea at passersby freshman year. Maybe you were even one of the brave few to stand up to them and yell back. But as time goes by, you start to realize that these guys are just freaks who recycle the same old insults year after year. Their material is so stale, and the roasts are weak. Yes, random bearded man in a suit in front of CL50, please call me a whore for the 16th time. By senior year, you know you should just keep walking.
House parties with cover:
This one’s a deal-breaker. House parties are generally just pretty shitty anyway, unless you like long lines to get into a bathroom with puke in the sink and no toilet paper, creepy mid-20s dudes who are definitely Lafayette townies, and warm Natty Ice. Desperate times call for desperate measures for some BGR freshies lookin’ for a boozefest, but to charge cover for us to enter your shitty house that looks like it came out of an episode of Hoarders? We’d rather try to find a seat in WALC during prime study time.
Giving a shit, in general:
You wonder how it was once possible for you to wake up at 6:00 a.m. and attend 7 consecutive 55-minute classes every day in high school, only for you to be too tired to attend your one 10:30 a.m. 50-minute lecture for the day in college. You walk into Armstrong in your Batman pajama pants with booze breath and toothpaste crusted on your lips and sneer at the girls with fully-done makeup and hair. You have puked in the bathroom at ME. You’ve been high in academic buildings one too many times. You’ve spent all your money on food and booze, but you just don’t care anymore.
The saddest takeaway of all of this is that it doesn’t get any better. You’re at your physical peak, and pretty soon, just one round of slap-the-bag is gonna have you frat-packed for the night. Purdue Pete has sucked the soul right out of you with his conniving close-mouthed grin and wide unblinking eyes, and you are forever indebted to him.