Combat Zone

Senior year: remembering what we can’t really remember

It’s been a bomb four years, my friends. But now that we’re about to graduate, the bombness of it is getting pounded in by every distant relative with a free phone, going on and on about how I’m going to remember the best years of my life. But what nobody is talking to us about is the stuff that really important, the best times, the ones that we’ll sure as hell never tell our kids about.

Here’s to the shitfaced, treebonked, faded out clusterfuck blacked-out nights that we’ll never, ever, ever be able to remember.

You know what I’m talking about, Sigma Chi. Freshman year, probably somewhere in April, maybe in an empty academic building but possibly in an abandoned meat processing plant. I think there were girls involved, but I can’t make any promises. Either way, it was the time of our lives! Especially Brance Holton’s, may he rest in peace. I think we’re all a little thankful that we can’t remember exactly what happened there.

Or how about you, basement of Todd-Phibbs. Spring break ’08! Or ’09? We found that abandoned copy machine outside McIntyre or Wright Park and decided to smuggle it… somewhere? We woke up next day so covered in printer ink that we got put on academic probation for parading around campus in blackface. God, if we knew where we put that thing wouldn’t we have a story to remember?

Or what about you, probably sexy lady professor? How different college would have been if I could remember your name, face or even your department—I could have sent you those letters I scribbled later, or at least asked for an A in whatever subject it is you taught. Sadly, the only thing I have of the probably amazing night I’m almost certain we spent together is this owl-shaped cyst on my hamstring.

If I could go back and make changes, would I do it? I don’t think I’d change a thing, but mostly because I have no idea what most of those things are in the first place. And neither do you. Everyone tells you to make the most of the great things you remember in college, but I want to remind you that you’ll always be able to make so much more out of the things you’ve forgotten.

Moose out.