It took me a little while to get over the ambiguous “theme.” Why there was a theme at all? It’s a school-sanctioned dance, and somehow history tells us that it is downright unacceptable to throw an unthemed school-sanctioned dance. “Drop it Like F. Scott” was what the competent elected officials of the FCC decided on, an apt blend of the way past (the dude himself), the more recent past (Snoop’s “Drop it Like It’s Hot”), the near future (the upcoming release of the Baz Luhrmann remake), and of course the distant future.
But what did they want me to do with the theme? Were we actually supposed to dress according to that theme? In the end we got the
killer combo of girls rocking their flapper frocks and feathers, girls suddenly deciding it’s okay to dress like a Q-pac girl, and the rest, sad souls who just didn’t know what to wear. It made for quite the spectacle.
What about the absurdly expensive neon green wristband tickets? (And sidenote: was I even supposed to buy my ticket, or would my date get it for me?) Anyway, eight bucks for the thing, and I’m not even going to try to guess what those funds are going towards.
But to the crux of the matter: the actual night of. The pregaming situation obviously ended up being a little anticlimactic, but that was expected. The dance itself was pretty lame, too, so we left after about 18 minutes.
But somehow, I still had a darn good time. My date was really, really cool, and we actually enjoyed hanging out for the night. I stayed up way past my bedtime and was beyond dead the entire next day, which I think makes the night an all-around success, for freshman screw. The key here is having suitemates who know what’s what—and how to screw down instead of screwing up.