Oh, that “juice†in small cups
Jul 08, 2010
INITIATION rites vary at every stage in life, and to be considered cool on campus requires a decidedly steep price. You may need to wear fewer clothes, point stilettos, dance all night, and get high. I am in the uncool league, mainly because the cross over takes place after midnight, when it is free
By Edith Namuganga
INITIATION rites vary at every stage in life, and to be considered cool on campus requires a decidedly steep price. You may need to wear fewer clothes, point stilettos, dance all night, and get high. I am in the uncool league, mainly because the cross over takes place after midnight, when it is freezing.
In a bid to change this, I decided to go for a drink-up. This is where all beverages have some good percentage of alcohol. From the juice to the soda, and if you were to make tea, you would have to guard it with your life in case it got spiked.
At 9:00pm, we set off for the house warming party or drink-up. The house was well lit; I got a guided tour, talked to a few people and settled down to enjoy my night. The first round of drinks was pretty legal, accompanied by snacks, music was good.
The fun really began at 11:00 pm when the first batch of girls walked in, let us just say the other girls at the party did not count.
All the guys seemed to sit a little straighter and talk a little louder. The six ladies had obviously been given a specific dress code. I started to feel a little over-dressed in my comfortable jeans, what with all the babes wearing above the-knee costumes. And yes, it was freezing outside.
Immediately the party seemed to take on a new tempo. The lights were put out, TV off, the noise levels went up and the ‘real’ drinks came around.
There was this guy carrying a kettle of what he insisted was juice except he was serving ridiculously small amounts of the great juice in tiny cups.
My first warning: No juice, I needed to stay awake, for this “juice†has a nasty way of putting me to sleep.
The girls, who I later gathered would be our entertainment of sorts, started out pretty calm, seated and laughing just a little.
As the tumblers of juice, soda, V&A, plus whatever was in that other kettle, kept passing round, the sound decibels went higher, laughter became shouts, the ladies finally got up to dance. I got comfortable on my perch on the reading table, ready to be entertained.
Why did I not get up to dance? Well, in this case watching was definitely more fulfilling, plus I could keep an eye on my virgin soda.
There was a fresh batch of guests at every hour, some of them strangers. The guests were all “happyâ€, dancing, standing against walls staring off into space, and my neighbour had invented a new award winning theory. This was my cue to leave.
What did I learn; I will possibly never break into the ranks of cool campusers; never touch the “juiceâ€; if you plan to leave early, take a lot of money and a semi-sober friend is good back-up.
INITIATION rites vary at every stage in life, and to be considered cool on campus requires a decidedly steep price. You may need to wear fewer clothes, point stilettos, dance all night, and get high. I am in the uncool league, mainly because the cross over takes place after midnight, when it is freezing.
In a bid to change this, I decided to go for a drink-up. This is where all beverages have some good percentage of alcohol. From the juice to the soda, and if you were to make tea, you would have to guard it with your life in case it got spiked.
At 9:00pm, we set off for the house warming party or drink-up. The house was well lit; I got a guided tour, talked to a few people and settled down to enjoy my night. The first round of drinks was pretty legal, accompanied by snacks, music was good.
The fun really began at 11:00 pm when the first batch of girls walked in, let us just say the other girls at the party did not count.
All the guys seemed to sit a little straighter and talk a little louder. The six ladies had obviously been given a specific dress code. I started to feel a little over-dressed in my comfortable jeans, what with all the babes wearing above the-knee costumes. And yes, it was freezing outside.
Immediately the party seemed to take on a new tempo. The lights were put out, TV off, the noise levels went up and the ‘real’ drinks came around.
There was this guy carrying a kettle of what he insisted was juice except he was serving ridiculously small amounts of the great juice in tiny cups.
My first warning: No juice, I needed to stay awake, for this “juice†has a nasty way of putting me to sleep.
The girls, who I later gathered would be our entertainment of sorts, started out pretty calm, seated and laughing just a little.
As the tumblers of juice, soda, V&A, plus whatever was in that other kettle, kept passing round, the sound decibels went higher, laughter became shouts, the ladies finally got up to dance. I got comfortable on my perch on the reading table, ready to be entertained.
Why did I not get up to dance? Well, in this case watching was definitely more fulfilling, plus I could keep an eye on my virgin soda.
There was a fresh batch of guests at every hour, some of them strangers. The guests were all “happyâ€, dancing, standing against walls staring off into space, and my neighbour had invented a new award winning theory. This was my cue to leave.
What did I learn; I will possibly never break into the ranks of cool campusers; never touch the “juiceâ€; if you plan to leave early, take a lot of money and a semi-sober friend is good back-up.