Worth the wait?
There are many rites of passage in college: pulling an all-nighter before your first exam, surviving the dirty habits of a random roommate or scoring a date with that cutie who barely looks at you on the bus.
They all bring you a sense of accomplishment on par with getting an A on an exam. Perhaps all these milestones prepare us for the moment our license rotates 90 degrees and our inhibitions, along with our liver, are washed away by 12 Natty Lights and seven shots of tequila.
With everyone I know turning 21 years old, I’ve come to find this long-anticipated birthday is magical and miserable at the same time. Our eyes are opened to a whole new world of $2 rail Tuesdays and Happy Hour hangovers. Cornerstone is no longer a foreign land of fake IDs and bad cologne, but is now our substitute for lame house parties.
We relish the thought of purchasing cheap beer and bad vodka on a bar stool because, well, we simply can. Stepping into The Barking Dog after the bouncers arrive is like stepping into Narnia. We’ve heard about this place, but we can’t believe we’re there on our own legal accord! With the way everyone does or does not hold their liquor, it’s as if we really are in Narnia with its talking animals.
This birthday milestone has been 21 years in the making and it won’t pass by without a fight. A fight from our liver, that is. We brace ourselves for Captain Morgan’s wrath and Jack Daniel’s fury, mapping out a pathway to the bathroom in preparation. The famous last words of our mother ring in our head as the bartender preys on our fresh meat.
“Drink responsibly,” Mom says. “Make good choices.”
As soon as that first round hits the table, we’ve signed away our of-age dignity and our obligation to listen to our mother. All of the sudden, it’s 24 hours later and we wake up in our bed in the same outfit we wore last night. We may or may not be missing a shoe.
After piecing together details from our slightly less-hungover friends against the vantage point of our blackout, we’re left with a bruised ego and an Instragram of our “first legal drink.” Mom doesn’t need to know about this night.
Still, we continue to find a reason every weeknight (or day) to wash away our academics: Manic Monday, Loose Tuesday, Wacky Wednesday, Thirsty Thursday and, well, Friday is just Friday.
And then the questions and curiosity come pouring in: “How is it being 21?” I don’t know; I’ll tell you when I pick up my liver from Bentley’s lost and found.
