I admit, I was pretty out of it last Friday (and as I wrote this). Now, I don't get hangovers as bad as some people -- who will remain nameless, so as to not blow anyone's spot -- but, I definitely experienced technical difficulties getting out of bed Friday morning. Yet in my mind, a hangover indicates a good time was had the night before. It's a small price to pay.
So, how could this have happened to a person who miraculously time and time again wakes up surprisingly fresh with memory intact no matter how much of class act she was the night before? In a word: "senior-pub-night".
Senior pub nights, whether at classy Sophia's or not-so-classy Dewick, are more than just "a great excuse to get wasted" (although they are that, too). It's an opportunity to hang out with all the people you've met along the way at Tufts -- and a chance to see them in rare form. Miss friends from your freshman hall? See them wasted, but more mature looking here. Want to see friends from your semester abroad? They're borracho (drunk) and dancing to your right. Haven't seen your freshman crush since fall 2000? See him looking as hot as ever (and plastered) on your left. See people that you didn't even know were seniors, or even went to Tufts. It's a night of long-lost friends, new friends, and soon-to-be friends.
To be completely honest, my night at the Mirage is a little hazy, but I'll recap as best I can. And I'm not alone in this; the day afterward, someone said to me, "It was almost like that night didn't happen. I know I had fun, I just don't remember..." How fitting that the club was called the Mirage.
Maybe it was the yellow school buses we took to the Mirage that made the ride there reminiscent of an elementary school field trip. Everyone was as hyper as first-graders, singing "Jumbos, Jumbos, Jumbos!" and the "Ole" chant. Fortunately, we made it to the Mirage in Roxbury without breaking windows or letters being sent home to parents.
I think we can all agree that the Mirage was a little shady, even for a place that's already in the middle of nowhere. My first sign of this was right after I got off the bus. After the "can I see your driver's license and Tufts ID" routine, I cheerfully greeted the woman bouncer who stepped in my path. She responded by picking up my arms and frisking me -- a little too touchy-feely if you ask me.
After using the ladies' room, we faced the drunken masses on the non-spacious dance floor, our coats strewn across tables and chairs. The music pounded loudly, switching randomly between popular sing-along-able hip hop to latin, which confused some and excited others. And depending on who you talk to, the strobe lights were either a) normal club lighting, or b) made it impossible (in addition to the beer goggles) to locate anyone.
The drinks were strong, but expensive at $6.50 for a kamikaze shot and $4.50 for a beer, and were served in crappy plastic cups they would give you at the dentist office. If you gripped your drink a little too tightly, you lost about $3 worth of alcohol all over yourself and the people around you. I don't think a single person (sober or drunk) left the Mirage without spilling or getting spilled on. It's like what people say about painting the cannon or running the NQR: you couldn't leave without doing it at least once.
To the dismay of many, there was no light beer available and there were only a measly number of choices otherwise, at that. According to one source, one of the bartenders did not know how to make rum and coke -- another indicator of the bar's poor quality.
Despite the negative aspects of the Mirage, people had a good time because it was a pub night -- they were happy to see each other and happy to be drunk. I wouldn't go to the Mirage if Tufts hadn't rented it out. If you missed this one, you didn't miss much. It was equal to previous ones at Hong Kong or Dewick -- a blur of familiar smiling, shouting, singing, (and drinking) faces that make up the class of 2004.
