The dark wasteland was dotted with stray cups (or it would have been if ecologically minded students weren’t picking them up). Public Safety, a whisper on the wind like the boogeyman from a child’s nightmare, held no sway here.

As the mass of students slowly converged around the dark porch, a wall of young men ranging from sober to smashed formed a barrier between the faceless masses pleading for entry and their goal. Eventually the lone voice of authority made his will known. “Get the fuck off the porch or nobody is getting in!”

Slowly, one or two meek souls backed down, only to be replaced by braver, drunker colleagues. The brisk fall air chilled the crowd as students broke into conversations and complaints about their present location relative to the party.

Those who could find alternate methods of admittance did. Well-connected individuals would stroll past the crowd, push their way to the top of the steps, clasp hands with a frat brother, and pass through the human wall into the party beyond. A few at a time, groups of girls would be allowed to trickle through, probably because the brothers were worried about them standing out there in the cold for too long.

Other groups peeled off and headed around back to be let in by a connection already within, or ambled away in search of another overcrowded house. Some tried to enter the frat house through persuasion, requesting to use the bathroom or name-dropping a (probably fictional) acquaintance. Others tried flirting their way through, or appealing to whatever friendships they had.

Eventually the crowd began to dissipate, as people either made it into the party or left in defeat. The weekly cycle of trying to get into open parties had run its course yet again.

Here our story ends. But as Halloween approaches and first-years raise their expectations for their first Halloweekend, they also begin to brace themselves for the shouting, jostling, lawless mood that is the line for a frat party. 

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