I would like to start this entry off with a quote…
“Sometimes legends make reality, and become more useful than the facts.” – Salman Rushdie
Now, I do not know who the fuck Salman Rushdie is. What I do know is that this quote is absolutely accurate. If you are trying to become a Resident Assistant at Hofstra, or currently are an RA, then you more than likely have heard about The Hague House in 2009-2010. If you haven’t, kindly remove yourself from the God damn rock you’ve been under for the past year and a half, and listen up. Hague parties ‘09-‘10 are legendary. We single-handedly made the stereotypical college life a reality. So take from a member of this prestigious group, some useful facts that will not only entertain you, but perhaps educate you as well. Because hey, The Chronicle sure as fuck isn’t educating anyone.
After the room down the hall got written up for the third time in a week, our floor had no place to pre-game. Kums (my roommate for those who don’t follow me and should) and I went into our room and privately discusses the possibility of letting people drink in our room. We simultaneously remembered an agreement we had made to never let people party in our dorm. Well, this house needs a hero…two of them: a white kid and an Indian from Jersey. Everybody was asking questions and making sure it was all right for us to have people drink in our room, but we knew we needed to come through. We collected about six-seven dollars from everyone (about eight to ten people) and went to pick up a few thirties.
Kums and I arrive back to the Hague to find that the beer pong table is already all set up, thanks to our friendly and attractive suitemates. Kums had a stereo system that spanned our entire room for pure entertainment, and collectively, we had some of the best music around. Since we’re good friends with our lovely lady neighbors, they would keep their door open and let us know when the RA’s walked into the building. This was our cue to turn down the music for about ten minutes, and wait for those fun-stealing bastards to leave. Once they left, we’d nervously and excitedly wait for the text…“They’re gone.” Blast that shit! Fill those cups! Where are the balls? Oh fuck, we lost them. Oh wait…found them! Play pong!
People would come in and out of our room, so we would have one of our suitemates, who is a classy pothead, manage the door (since all he did was blaze up and watch Wheel of Fortune). We had some heated rivalries at the pong table between rooms. Our room became the party zone for the house. Everybody would come in to see what was going on before deciding to go out to the bar, or a party that night. The house became closer and many new friendships were formed because of those parties that went down in our dorm room. People from different houses in the Netherlands (all-freshman dorming) heard about our parties and would try to get in. We were the place to be for much of the first semester… until one fateful night.
This night was no different than any other Hague party. Blasting music, girls looking out for us, beer flowing, cans shot-gunned, and being funneled in our bathroom – You know, the usual. On this fuck-fest of a night, my friends from back home had actually come up to visit me at school. Everyone was in our room playing beer pong and hanging out, when I looked at my phone to see a text sent about fifteen minutes ago. It said “Lower the music, it’s a little too loud.” Ah fuck. Soon after came the dreaded knock on the door. In slow motion I saw my suitemate get up, look out the peephole, and then look back at me. He didn’t say anything but I could see it in his face. I slammed the door to my bedroom. Fuck! Kums took one look at me and knew right away what happened. The funny thing is though, we didn’t even give a flying fuck. Honestly, we were more impressed that we lasted this long doing what we were doing.
The RAs walked into our bedroom where they immediately saw the pong table and about fifteen people jam-packed into our room. Kums and I gave our information, and were written up. After writing us up, they asked us to dump out all the beer. Shit. They opened our fridge and saw about forty cans of beer just chilling in there. They were shocked. “Wow, that’s a lot of alcohol” said one of the RAs. “We go hard” exclaimed a drunken Kums. Classic Kums. They then walked into our suitemates’ room and checked their fridge. The RA’s looked at us and said “Are you guys serious?” as they discovered another forty-five cans of beer. The total time it took us to dump out all that beers had to have been close to twenty minutes. One of our buddies was trying to shotgun beers in the bathroom behind the RAs back…Good looks, bro. They also confiscated Kums’ funnel, which was literally like taking a child away from its mother. “Anything but my funnel bro, please” pleaded Kums. He seriously got teary-eyed. It was like watching the ending of Click for the first time – terrible and sad. After cleaning up the mess with paper towels, actual towels, and the latest issue of The Chronicle, everyone left. A few moments later, some crazy asshole came out of my closet. Apparently this sick prick hid in there when the RAs came in. Touché. After that bastard left, Kums and I had a long talk about laying low for a little bit.
Going into our first “Alcohol Meeting” with the Head of Housing, we were both a little nervous and did not know what to expect. She told us the story written in the report, and boy was it fucking epic. Verbatim…
“We entered the room to see about twenty students and non-students sitting there crammed into this small bedroom. After asking to open the fridge the boys were very compliant and allowed us to do so. In both fridges, we found over ninety beers. Ninety beers. The boys emptied them out as we confiscated Mr. Kums’ funnel. He put up a fight, but reluctantly gave in…”
Our punishment? Six months probation for throwing one hell of a party. Now, this had put a stop to our partying, for a few days, but now we knew exactly how to beat the system. We were no longer amateurs, we were fucking champs. Some people said it was “painful to watch us do it again” or looked down on us for trying to keep the party going. You know what we said to that? Go fuck yourself. If you don’t appreciate what we are doing, then mind your own boring God damn business. If it bothers you that much, and you want to criticize it publicly, then go right ahead. At least it gets our name out there, and doesn’t get picked up and thrown away like your boring ass life. Just saying. Until next time, don’t get caught by RAs, and look out for those eyes boys… they’re everywhere.