by Grayson Grigorian'21 and Jorge Guajardo '21
Well, it’s a little chilly out and I’m hearing some pumpkin flavored orders at Starbucks, so I can only assume October is rolling around. We all know what that means: it’s about time for the Homecoming asks to start. The boys are beginning to make signs with bad puns on them and the girls are beginning to receive the “Can you meet me at Open City during office hours?” texts. That’s only half the fun — just wait till the two crowds assemble in front of the Cathedral with neither person really knowing what to say. “Homecoming?” the boy stutters out, with people on all sides taking videos or pictures. Through an awkward laugh, he receives a reply of “Yeah, thanks” if all goes to plan. After handing over the sign and taking a picture, the two parties go their separate ways to sports.
Now, to all of the new freshmen with high expectations for the dance, here’s what will most likely go down: the dance approaches, and after the football team tries their best (can’t win ‘em all), groups begin to assemble for pictures before a dinner. This is assuming you’re not a member of the 2017 cross country team (pardon the tangent I’m about to go on), in which case you are halfway through a long bus ride back from a meet that just so happened to be far away. Very far away. Charlottesville, Virginia far away. There’s been a lot of traffic on the route, but you’re on Rock Creek Parkway now, ten minutes away from school, feeling good. All of the sudden, the bus stops, you look ahead and see a road closure and, would you look at that, people are getting out of their cars. Great. After waiting another thirty minutes, cars start to move and you get back to school. Collect your clothes, hop in the locker room showers, and speed walk as fast as you can in those too-small or too-large dress shoes to Cafe Deluxe.
Now that I’ve gotten that off my chest, back to the generic story. Well, the dinner happens. Nothing is too eventful, but you see three other groups of people about to go to the dance because everyone goes to the same three restaurants. You finish eating, pay, and walk over to the dance. And then the dance starts. It’s like other dances: loud music, it’s hot, but now you’re in formal clothes. What a concept. One of those songs comes on that everyone knows, so now the jumping intensifies and that thing happens where six people fall in the middle of the moshpit cause the song is just that good. It’s at this point that you realize you haven’t really talked to your date since you’ve gotten into the dance, but with the loud music and the shouting, how could you? Now people start to leave, and approximately sixty Ubers are called to Senior Circle in the span of fifteen minutes—logistics at its finest. This concludes the dance portion of the night—the end.