We arrived early. Drove through the campus in what seemed to be the calm before a storm. Things were quiet, homogenized and seemingly normal. However, there was a certain buzz in the air. Almost as if everyone was secretly bracing for impact. We stopped at a Motel 8 to grab a cheap room, only to be informed that everything was booked not only there but everywhere in town. This was when I realized how a big a deal this night was. Not only were we commingling with almost 20,000 undergrads but also enough college outpour to fill every hotel in the area. By chance, we scored a relatively cheap room in the holiday inn by mid-afternoon and began to settle in for the debauchery to come. Some napped, some ate fried chicken and one chose to start drinking straight whiskey. There is something inherently dangerous about whiskey before dark and what was to come was (40) proof of this...
By 9:30 were were costumed and anxious, ready to cannonball into the cesspool of sleaze, and Keystone Light sponsored debauchery that was so immanent. What we did not foresee was that one merrily mustached, cholo-costumed drunkard was not fit for public appearance. We arrived on scene and our collective jaw was instantly dropped. This was the "real" college we had heard so much about while tucked away in our comfy corner of a hipster driven art school. The sheer amount of people was baffling. For miles all the eye could see were hoards of cavemen, bumblebees, indians and of course 2010's token costume, the Chilean Coal Miner. Being that Boston is too cold for the neo-nudity that Halloween allows, I was not prepared for the amount of sluttery. Ladies and gents alike all seemed dedicated to a level of minimalism unheard of since Frank Stella.
Before we had time to fully glean the scene, our aforementioned friend sprinted into the crowd high fiving strangers and screaming "my sister's pregnant" at the top of his lungs. Although this was a very popular move amongst the drunk-friendly masses, the police battalions were less open armed to his behavior. Within 20 minutes of landing ourselves in this Halloween haven, our friend was being cuffed and taken to jail for the night to face what will probably go down as one of the worst nights of his life. I would pay large sums for a copy of that sharpie-mustached mug shot but enough on that. We were a man down but ready to face the thousands of people and throngs of parties.
While posting inside a small apartment complex we happened across the man who would quickly become our saving grace party-Sherpa for the evening. Bonded over booze, he quickly declared his love for us and began introducing us as his best friends to anyone who would listen. To nutshell the next few hours we landed ourselves in 4-5 different parties, acquired a pet crayfish, our fearless guide completely lost his voice, one of us spent almost an hour chasing a girl dressed as Mr. Hanky the Christmas Poo and I met my first Juggalo. In other words it was a complete success. One 5 pound burrito and a $30 cab ride later, we found ourselves back at the holiday inn. Ragged and utterly flabbergasted at what I had just experienced, I knew nothing but the comfort of a king sized bed shared with 2 other gentlemen.
It was not until our friend was safely rescued from the puke and urine covered jail cell floor and we were packing up that I began to reflect on the ridiculousness of it all. Who were these people I had just spent an entire night forming 5 minute, beer induced relationships with? Was this their typical scene? Was the legend of Isla Vista a story they lived every weekend of their college career? The overwhelmingly white sons and daughters of blissfully ignorant parents clearly had something going for them...They make up an isolated community of raging alcoholics, degeneration and fast times. All gentrified into a tanktop and sandal wearing collective of perversity and vice. Anglo-party animals who reflect no noteworthy subculture. I spent our breakfast that morning at the UCSB Denny's observing and eavesdropping on the inordinately uniformed Pacific Sunwear models that make up the student body. Not once did I hear mention of classes, majors, papers, grades or studying. However, I did hear one guy ask his waitress if they served Natty Ice. I asked one friend, "why didn't we go to a school like THIS!?!" His answer seemed almost un-debatable at this point. "Because one day these motherfuckers WILL be working for us..." I can only hope his optimism rings true.
No Crayfish were injured in the writing of this post.
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