OP-ED: I Can’t Wait to Pass Out in Historic, Culturally Significant Gutters While I’m Abroad
Bret Stevenson
As my semester abroad nears, I find myself eagerly anticipating the new friends, classes, and experiences that await me. I have always dreamed of immersing myself in a culture other than my own, to learn simply by living amongst the people I have spent so much time learning about. It is truly the opportunity of a lifetime, sure to be full of enriching experiences at every turn. That’s what I said on my application, anyway. Really I can’t wait to pass out some historic, culturally significant gutters.
I have a one of a kind opportunity to wake up to the dulcet tones of a foreign tongue wafting through the air as I pick myself up out of a puddle of my own vomit, and I’m gonna take advantage of it.
Though I’ve spent many a night semi-conscious in some Burlieth back-alley, nothing can compare to what I will learn from peeling my battered, vomit-caked body out of a quaint trash-strewn sidestreet only steps away from a bar near the Louvre or the Colosseum. As I wonder where I am, my foggy memories will slowly remind me that I spent the night pissing on buildings more historically significant than anything I’ve pissed on in the U.S. The thought of wallowing in a regurgitated pool of the world’s finest cuisine within crawling distance of some of its finest art and architecture is almost too inspiring to put into heavily slurred words.
As much as enjoy my time here at Georgetown, I can’t help but think my life abroad will allow me to truly fulfill my potential.
As I stumbled home from Rhino last weekend, the stabbing pain in my liver let me know something was missing. While there’s no denying the warm, nauseous feeling you get plastering your usual spot on the sidewalk with vomit, I needed something to jolt me out of my cultural complacency. I can think of no better way to do this than to apply that same coat of vomit to some of history’s most significant avenues.
Smashing your head on cobblestone streets is great no matter where you are, but it is only once your blood has pooled at the base of brilliant fountains that you can truly appreciate how connected we all are. The beauty of art surrounds us every moment of our lives, but it is not until that art has fractured your skull that you truly realize how powerful it can be.
I expect to come back from my time abroad a changed man. Blacking out in such a culturally-stimulating environment is an experience you just can’t forget. Just as I plan to leave my bile-based mark on Europe’s most cherished locations, it surely plans to leave its bloody cobblestone-indented mark on me. I can hardly wait for the moment I arrive on foreign soil and can celebrate the joyful diversity of life by drinking myself to death before the age of 21.
