Don’t Do That: Kiefer Roberts’ open letters to the campus community

Kiefer. Illustration by Alicia Toldi.

Dear Connecticut College Camels,

Welcome back! In the interest of full disclosure, I wanted to tell you all that for a few weeks over break I considered not continuing the column. You know, occasional hurt feelings (sorry I’m not sorry), people not heeding some advice (seriously, if it’s not Sundae Sunday in Harris…), and even a point where I thought to myself, “What else do I have to say?” And then I realized that the spring semester is the longer of the two, and there are a few things I would love to point out before it’s too late. After all, The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills is over, which means I have lots of free time.

As a senior admissions fellow, I’m often asked what the student relationship is like with the town and people of New London, and while I do my best to accurately portray it, there’s no easy way to say, “Yeah…they’re not fond of the space we take up at L&M hospital come spring time.” Well, actually, I guess that would be a good way to phrase the subject (note: not issue) of alcohol consumption, but I digress. My point is, if you’ve ever been out on the town and received a dirty look from a guy who looks like he frequents Exchange, Hot Rod’s or Road House more than your typical Thursday or Saturday excursion, it’s not (just) because he doesn’t respect your not-so-well-concealed Four Loko. It’s probably because he knows a guy who knows a guy who was in the waiting room, bleeding from the face while some Conn student had puke caked in their hair and was getting an IV. Or perhaps he drives a cab, one he had to hose out after somebody decided it was a good idea to lose all that Harris pesto pasta in the back seat. My point? Drinking can lead to fun when done properly; drinking properly, however, doesn’t necessitate a private escort to the hospital.

This stands as a warning for any underclassmen (freshmen) who’ve yet to experience this. My advice to you, good young people of the college, is DO NOT DO IT. See? Simple. Anyone who’s a sophomore or older, you’ve really got no excuse. You’ve had time to acclimate to the absence of kegs, and to the administration apparently hating fun. But those are not free passes to act like Charlie Sheen. So stop doing pulls of Evan, Jim, Jack, Johnnie or José in your room, and eat some more bread or something. Damn, get your act together.

Avoiding the unnecessary and expensive hospital trip can be done in quite a few easy-to-remember ways. For instance, if the frothy broth you encounter in a recycling bin in a third floor laundry room (reason enough, for most) doesn’t maintain a color that you can find in nature, it’s best to stay away. On that note, if it has the same color as something you might find left in a toilet at 2:17 on a Friday morning (quick note to the boys here: The entire “if it’s yellow, let it mellow” rule might be environmentally friendly, but it was established for bathrooms you don’t have to share), it’s probably best not to swallow, yeah? Good. Also, if you make a drink, take a sip and immediately make a face like you smell nail polish remover, the concoction in the cup is probably closer to acetone than that kamikaze recipe you just Googled.

As you know or as you might have heard, this semester has a tendency to get wild, especially once it gets warm. The desire to kick back an extra shot or two can be a tricky thing to avoid, but is probably best to, especially if you’ve had more shots than you have digits. The only thing more horrific than having to take an ambulance to the hospital, is having to take a cab back in the morning with nothing on but last night’s outfit and this week’s shame to look forward to. And yes, it might be early, but someone is watching you. And laughing. A lot.

Be festive, not dead,
Kiefer •