Besides its rivalry with the University of Florida, Florida State University (FSU) is notorious for its intense party scene. According to Niche.com, FSU is ranked as the second top party school in America. When I decided to attend, that fact didn’t excite me. It unsettled me. During high school, the sole experience listed on my party resume was “Homecoming 2018: A night of students moving their bodies to songs I had never heard before.”
Therefore, it was obvious that compared to a Coachella-themed gym, the depths of Tallahassee frat houses and dim nightclubs would cater to more explicit, potentially illegal and off-putting behavior among its influx of young adults. To be specific, the main reason as to why no one will ever see me stumbling down College Avenue nor Tennessee Street at 3 a.m. Sunday morning is because partying is synonymous with the glamorization of alcohol and drug (ab)use, as well as repulsive social situations and environments.
Every weekend, sometimes even weekdays, partiers can’t help but flaunt their consumption of euphoria-inducing substances online. They equate their brain, lung and/or liver impairment to having a fun, fulfilling night out. Clinging to hallway walls and vomiting on the sidewalk is framed as comedic, not concerning. They probably haven’t pondered, “Is the experience worth it if you’re not going to remember it tomorrow?” Or maybe that’s the point.
I don’t want to waste my weekends on being wasted. Surrendering my mind and body to fermented crop juice or skunk-smelling plants to endure a situation doesn’t seem enlightening. One shouldn’t have to rely on the absorption of ethanol to feel good. There’s much more to life, especially college life, than chemical reactions. For instance, you could consider trying new foods, playing board games, watching a movie, laughing at stand-up shows, reading books, traveling and truly connecting with people. As opposed to intoxication, I dedicate my 48-hour break to academic recuperation. It’s not right for your body to tolerate mental stress all week and then be poisoned. To me, overdosing is overrated. Our developing bodies deserve a break.
Halting reality to hallucinate is a harrowing habit disguised as a heavenly hobby. Instead, you could be in bed dreaming, avoiding being drained of dopamine. Not to mention, you’d dodge hanging onto a thin will to live because of a throbbing hangover. I may be a killjoy, but at least I won’t have to worry about having one too many.
Yes, you can party sober; there isn’t a 0.06 BAC (Blood Alcohol Concentration) requirement to enter or exit Potbelly’s. However, without the blurry vision, there are no rainbows to filter the truth: being packed back-to-back with pushy peers in an ocean of plastic cups, body fluids and grinding. Personally, the unpleasantness of such a scenario is amplified since we’re still in a pandemic.
So, even when I’m 21 and the world is free of coronavirus, I don’t want any part of parties. Partaking in the dirty morals and environments found within that culture is a path I’ll pass on. I just personally do not want to do something that I wouldn’t do if my parents were around.
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