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How To: Pass the DePaul Swipe Test Whilst Drunk

As a seasoned veteran, your best bet at passing the swipe test would be to follow every bit of my advice, down to the comma splices. Here’s how to conquer the swipe test when you’re on the verge of the spins.


Walking to the Dorm:
You had one too many gin and tonics. (Some people say it’s an old lady drink. Well, some people are right.) You’re singing “Aaron’s Party” in unison with the little voices in your head while you lead your pack of friends back to campus; all of whom are as inebriated as you are, if not worse. And of course Lisa is a block behind, leaving a trail of vomit behind her. You don’t have time for this shit, you need to get to bed ASAP before you run into someone else who drags you to some shitty party off Diversey. Fuck Lisa. She’ll be in the bushes outside of Sanctuary in the morning; get her then. 


As you continue walking, your vision narrows. You can see your dorm appearing in the horizon. You turn around, look back at your friends, and shout, “YO. Does everyone have their IDs?” Together, their slurred yells sound something like, “Gary Coleman.” You accept it as a “yes” and realize that you should probably start watching Diff’rent Strokes. You make a mental note to check and see if it’s on Netflix, and if it’s not to send Netflix a strongly worded envelope, from Gary Coleman’s ghost, filled with white powder. (Don’t worry! It’s just sugar, the key is to make them think it’s Anthrax.)


Anyways, you approach the dorm, specifically, the stairwell that leads to the entryway. You take your first step up and hold on to that rail for dear life because you lost all the feeling in your legs. (Jungle juice and heels, man. Just rock crocs next time.) Your climb up those five cement steps feels like a seven night trek in an arctic tundra crunched down into 45 seconds. But you manage to reach the door. You got this in the bag (which you stole from that apartment).



Swiping into the Building:
This is the dress rehearsal. This is the time where you can practice swiping and fail without facing the penalty of having a security guard call some “regretful of not listening to his mom and marrying rich” paramedic escort you into the back of an ambulance and take your sorry ass to the Masonic Medical Center. You take a deep breath, tighten your grip on your I.D., and throw your arm in front of the thing where you swipe your card to get money but instead of money you get to open a door.


It went through. You’re ready.



Do or Die:

You and your friends run into the building and mentally prepare yourselves to face the security guard. You try to be the first person to swipe because that crazy slut-bucket, Lisa, found her way back into the dorm there is no way in HELL she’s passin’. You gotta get out of there before shit goes down. Then the imaginable happens. That one bitch Gina brought along, Skylar, cut you in the swipe line. Yeah, fucking Skylar from Gina’s philosophy class who Gina claimed is “super fun” and “easy to talk to without making you feel immediate discomfort,” disregarded the system.


You grow frustrated as you watch Skylar swipe and pass. You turn back and look at your friend Enrique who just shakes his head and says, “Bitch be lookin’ to snarf.” Enrique gets it. You high five Enrique.


Now it’s your time to shine.


“Alright. Here I go. ‘Bout to do this. It’s Coming. YONCÉ.” You recite your drunk mantra out loud as you approach the one thing that keeps you from your bed, the swipe card machine thingy.


You walk towards the front desk and make direct eye contact with LaDonica, the security guard, letting her know that you’re not afraid of anything. You stand up straight, show her your ID, and with a gentle flick of your wrist, swipe. You sigh as the light turns green. It feels like you just found out that your bitch grandmother died and, according to her will, you got that Apple TV playa. Glorious.


You proudly saunter into the doorway, up the stairs, and enter your floor. You end up passing out in the common room because your keys are probably covered in Lisa’s vomit somewhere at the corner of Sheffield and Fullerton. 


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