Well, it has finally arrived. That sacred four-day weekend that we at Rhodes seem to treat like Spring Break. It seems Rhodes students have an uncanny inclination to take any opportunity to get off campus, for even a day, as some major holiday. People are packing up their dressers, putting their bikes on their car, using up their milk, defrosting their fridges. It’s just 48 hours, but all the sudden it’s like the end of the world or summer is next week. Everyone (including myself I should add) is saying, “Happy Fall Break!” “What are you doing for the break?” “When do you leave?” “I need to see you before you leave!!” (Cause it’s going to be a whole five days before we see each other again!)
Maybe it’s the “break” in there that throws everything into such vast confusion. It’s so easy to just misspeak the season, and then you have “Spring Break” and then all the sudden we all have 10 days and cold beach weather and endless collegiate parties. Maybe there’s some huge subconscious confusion.
While thinking of this phenomenon I thought back on my fall breaks. And honestly, they’ve never been exciting. Well, never again.
I think I gained a fear of (or satisfaction with) Fall Break from my first real Fall Break experience. This happened my junior year of high school.
My cousin and I decided that Fall Break would be the perfect time to go look at colleges – with our grandmother. For the sake of privacy (that really doesn’t need to be maintained) I will refrain from using names of the other institutions, though it may not be that difficult to determine them.
After our first college there were a few near fatal experiences as our hostess drove us around town early in the morning. We stumbled into the hotel around 2:30 in the morning.
We toured the second college in the rain, in heels (cause we were in high school) and ended looking a small step up from a drenched pair of cats. That night, a student at the college was sitting at the table across from us at the campus coffee shop. He was wearing eyeliner, all black clothes, and had dyed-black hair. I don’t know that either of us really noticed him at first, but right as we sat down the boy (a student) said, “Do either of you have a gun so I can shoot myself if the mouth?” I think both of our mouths dropped. Me, being the naïve little high school junior I was, said, “no, I’m so sorry.” My cousin gave me a “did you really just say that?” look. I gave a shoulder shrug in return.
The boy stood up and muttered, “Hate this school. Hate this.” And sloughed away. I got a reproach of “Why do you talk to people like that?” from my cousin.
We spent the next night at the same institution, having dinner with a professor friend of my grandmother. All I remember of that night was his house smelled of moth balls, he had antique furniture, his house was in woods that looked like they belonged in Deliverance, and he and my grandmother really enjoyed the conversation.
Needless (or maybe needed) to say, neither my cousin nor I chose that fine institution full of happiness and warmth.
Our last stop was a city was Memphis, TN. We made it to the hotel and all got out slightly shocked, slightly staggering, due to my driving skills (or lack thereof at the time). We checked into a hotel on Union. After we were settled in, my cousin and I decide to go to the lobby, where they had free hot drinks. We were sitting talking once again, it’s about eleven o’clock, and we see someone standing on the other side of the glass double doors, knocking, trying to speak to the concierge at the desk. The man is wearing a tight gold, sequined dress with silver stilettos, and a gold satchel. His make up included lashes with fake diamonds, blue eye shadow, red lipstick, and pink blush – pretty standard. My cousin and I were frozen for a minute, but after everything, we just looked back at each other and continued our conversation. The concierge let the man in and they began a very familiar conversation.
I was not allowed to drive on Union the next day—for the safety of everyone involved. There was no traumatic experience at Rhodes. For better, and worse of the story.
We drove home the next day and arrived safely, though everyone was a little shell-shocked.
Ever since this momentous occasion, I have toned down my fall breaks. I just don’t think I can beat that—though I could if I tried. My fall breaks now consist of sleep, home cooking, washing my car, getting my oil changed. Such an old lady.
But best wishes to all for this Fall Break! Hope it’s epic or relaxing, whatever you’re looking for. Enjoy the 48-whole hours!
This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at Rhodes chapter.