Bowdoin drinking culture is widely discussed in terms of decision making, illegality and hospitalization; it is less often thought of in terms of abstinence. Yet the prominence of camouflaged non-drinkers on campus is a stone I can no longer leave unturned. Katherine Churchill has blogged about her discovery of Chambo. I will take up the mantle of uncovering the truth of college drinking.
Let me paint a scene:
It is a Friday night at Bowdoin. Someone has called the cops to Quinby’s Lilo and Stitch-themed Luau. Quinby residents quickly clear the house. But, the bathrooms are locked. Why? It’s still early. Surely first years can’t have gotten sick. But they have. Is it alcohol poisoning? Or is it the dreaded boozy poo?
I decide to investigate. There have been too many nights when I’ve been denied a trip to Super Snack because a “friend” is feeling ill.
Saturday night arrives, and I am ready. I dress in my pillow case toga, eat a lot of brownies, remove my pillow case toga and dress again in jogging shorts and a tee. I grab my notebook and pen. Epicuria seems like the perfect opportunity for my investigation. A taco truck, togas and a Beatles cover band leave little to be desired.
I locate six random Bowdoin students and question them on their drinking choices.
First, I find B, a tall, blonde NARP. “Why aren’t you drinking tonight?” I ask. “Does drinking make you sick?”
“You’re pretty hostile,” she says.
I apologize. “Listen,” I say. “I’ve heard tequila shots leads to diarrhea.”
“Diarrhea wouldn’t stop me,” she says. “Wait—if you quote that in the Orient I’ll kill you.”
“You’ll be anonymous,” I say. “Don’t worry.”
She looks at me with an icy, sober stare. “Can’t you write about Diva Cups or something?” she says.
I walk away and continue the investigation. I find a large athlete. She is wearing a toga.
“I noticed you’re not drinking,” I say. “Why? Does it make you sick?”
“I’m on antibiotics,” she tells me.
“Ooh, for what?” I ask.
She walks away.
I question a student glued to the taco truck. She is reaching over the counter to grab cheese with her bare hands.
“Are you drunk?” I say. “Are you 21? What do you like about alcohol?”
“Are you security?” she says.
I shake my head. She giggles, crams stringy cheddar into her face and disappears into a bush.
“Probably drunk,” I write in my notebook. “Find more sources.”
One student tells me she’s not drinking because of a game. Another isn’t drinking because of an Outing Club trip. A third is very, very high.
I quit the job and go home.
Next weekend comes and it is Yom Kippur. I sit at the too-high counter in Smith Union. I spend some quality time on WebMD.
“Why do people drink?” I type into the search bar. Many things pop up. Most of them make sense.
I get bored and spend a while diagnosing myself in regard to several highly contagious and possibly lethal diseases. I get back to the grind. I learn that alcohol affects the body’s ability to absorb water, which explains that whole dehydration thing. I also learn that when the body can’t absorb water, sometimes it’ll absorb the toxic booze instead, leading to an “outpouring” of the booze. I learn that WebMD can be very graphic.
I close my laptop. I go for a walk. Bowdoin students pepper the Quad in their Birkenstocks and flannels, like speckles of toothpaste spat in a sink.
Indian summer is nice, I think. Then I wonder why it’s called that.
“Why is this called Indian summer?” I ask a frisbee player on the grass.
“Don’t be so PC,” she says.
I ask someone else.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in temple today?” they say.
I Google “Is it okay to call Indian Summer ‘Indian Summer’” and learn nothing. Perhaps I’ll never really know whether abstinence is the right way to stop college alcoholism, or if Indian Summer is appropriative, or if this girl my cousin knows really used her FASFA money to buy Pinnacle Whipped Cream Vodka and a flat-screen TV.
I sink onto the grass and pull out a Mike’s.
B bikes by. “That’s illegal,” she calls to me.
“I’m breaking the fast,” I tell her. “It’s fine.”