We’ve all been there, swearing we’d never go back to The Hawk, only to end up right back in its arms a week later. Somehow the night always seems to go the same way. We’re here with your unofficial official guide to how the average Jayhawk navigates a night at Lawrence’s favorite underclassman bar.
9 p.m.: Still too early for The Hawk o’clock:
Going to The Hawk at this hour guarantees that you’ll end up in bed by midnight unsure of how you got there, and all you have to show for yourself is a half-eaten box of Pizza Shuttle lying next to you in bed. Sometimes these things just happen, but more often than not, they’re controllable. If it’s 9 p.m., you’re jumping the gun. Go drink a Moosebowl and come back to The Hawk when you’re ready to make bad decisions like the rest of us.
10:30 – 11 p.m.: Time to befriend that horrible person from your English class because they’re at the front of the line and you’re not:
You’ve waited your turn in line, and a bouncer is giving you the ol once-over as he scans your totally believable and completely legal ID. Just some simple business transactions happening over here. Once you’ve gained entry to The Hawk, that nostalgia-inducing familiar smell of yak, vodka, sweat, and bad decisions consumes you, and you begin to wonder how many shots you have to down to get to the level everyone else is on.
11:30 p.m.: Dancing on the tables in the Main/Pine rooms:
A couple shots and double vodka Redbulls later and you’ve gotten to where you need to be. All that’s left to do is become acquainted with the stripper pole and you’ll have covered all the bases.
11:45 p.m.: Officially pronounced missing from the group until proven otherwise:
You’ve sent several “wjhEre aare u??!!” texts and snaps to various contacts, crossed paths with an ex-hookup, and had your ego boosted more than ever before thanks to inebriated girls in the bathroom. This is probably the last portion of the night that you’ll remember, so you might as well enjoy it.
12 a.m.: “Anybody have any cigs? I only smoke when I’m drunk I swear”:
You somehow managed to stumble your way down those treacherous patio steps, and you should be proud of yourself for making it down in one piece. This is where the real action happens. You make your way over to the bar, pull out your card, and buy anyone in your general vicinity a shot. This transaction is going to feel GREAT tomorrow morning, but hey, you gotta meet that $10 minimum.
12:30 a.m.: The point of no return, R.I.P.:
Not quite the witching hour, but it might as well be. You’re belting “Closer” by the Chainsmokers and suddenly the Boom Boom Room sounds like a good idea. All of this should be a red flag, but you’re in too deep. You’ve crossed over to the other side by waiting in line for the Boom. Godspeed.
1 a.m. – on: Last Call:
It’s called that for a reason. Take your drunk ass and remove yourself from The Hawk like the respectable human you are. By the time the lights come on you’ll feel the onset of a hangover so violating you swear there are actual monkeys pounding cymbals in your head. That’s when you know it’s time to get some Wheel pizza and pass out on the nearest futon you can find.
The only ounce of recollection you’ll have tomorrow is all thanks to your Snapchat story (which is annoying as fuck by the way), but don’t be so hard on yourself. Come Monday you’ll be posted up at Anschutz Lib hating your life and already anticipating the next go-round at the good ‘ol Jayhawk Cafe.
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