There are several reasons why today is important. The Beatles: Rock Band is released, the date looks pretty cool with that whole triple-nine effect, and, oh right, it’s my 21st birthday! Don’t worry, I won’t pull out my tiara. In light of turning such a monumental age, I thought to address everyone who isn’t quite 21 yet: Sucks for you!
In all seriousness, this is really a column of empathy. Just last weekend, I was in your shoes, praying the bouncers at Cornerstone Grill and Loft would let me in on account of thinking all East Africans look alike. However, once subjected to watching freshmen have a very public aversion to the cheap vodka in their mixed drinks, I became disgusted. That reminds me: Freshmen, the quality (or price for that matter) of College Park bars won’t quite match your parents’ liquor cabinet, so either adapt or don’t come out. Welcome to Route 1, just as I am kissing it goodbye, thanking it for all the memories and introducing myself to more polished venues in Washington.
Wishing I could take all my senior friends with me, I’ve come to realize just how much of a divide 21 can put in every college senior class. Most people expect that at the start of summer after junior year, everyone is already 21, which clearly isn’t true. Fall babies know by now that several summers have been killed due to very similar predicaments. For example, there was the summer that all my friends got to work at Six Flags or the mall because they had already turned 16.
Two summers later I faced the issue of being 18. Not that cigarettes or porn were on my agenda, but going to clubs for all my other friends’ birthdays would have been nice. This past summer, however, was the true trial for fall babies, and now that we’ve gotten through those lame three months the best we could, the rest is a piece of cake.
It’s safe to say that unless you joined the class of 2010 as one of those pretentious prodigy children, we’ll all be hanging out, acting sloppy and forgetting each other’s names by spring semester. No more secret dorm parties where you have to run to the bathroom, lock it and turn the shower on at the knock of every resident assistant.
(Speaking of which, why is it always the drunkest person who looks in the peephole and turns around to the rest of the room with a “what should we do?” look? You don’t even live there, so please stop that).
It doesn’t even matter anymore, because we’re leaving that behind for bigger, better and, most likely, more expensive things. So to my formerly fellow young classmates, the sober struggle is almost over. Just remember that while you’re patiently waiting on 21, no one understands your pain like I do, and no one will take more drinks in your absence than me.
Fenan Solomon is a senior journalism and pre-pharmacy major. She can be reached at solomon at umdbk dot com.
