Twenty people. Ten. Five. Fuck. Gavin Toodle (CAS ‘27) is now next in line at Tombs. He’s young for his year—only just turned 19. And he doesn’t even have one of those fuckass rich people Euro fakes that confuse the bouncers. He’s with his best friends, Mark Wafflehome, 20, and Peter Childs, 19. One after another, their Minnesota and Oregon fakes get denied. Stupid. Everyone knows people from Minnesota don’t go to Georgetown. Together, denied, the two walk away, giving Gavin a glance that says, go get’em, tiger.
Gavin approaches the bouncer with the feeble DC ID he found beneath the urinal of the ICC 1 bathrooms. Risky, he knows. But he has no choice. Birth year listed: 1997. Bouncer looks it up and down. Asks for Gavin’s address. A test. But Gavin expected this. He’s trained for this for months. Flashcards. Quizlet. Sign of the Whale. He knows this information. Everything he’s done in his mere 19 years has led him to this very moment. One more puzzling look from the bouncer. He extends his left arm, gesturing for Gavin to descend the stairs. He’s in.
As Gavin goes forth down those biblical stairs, he takes one last glance towards Mark and Peter, who had been watching from the corner. They’re crying. Mark is shaking, held in a tight embrace by Peter. Peter raises his right fist, pumping it toward the sky in an act of victory. Gavin knows he must go forth. If not for himself, then them.
Gavin Toodle finally gets stamped at the entry. Then, jubilee. Garden of Eden. Sweaty. Sexy. Underground. Fête. Honor. Respect. He looks around himself at the festival of no fakes. Except for his. This is it. This is his moment. He knows he may never see such a beautiful sight ever again—At least until he’s securely 21. But tonight? Tonight must be the night to last him two more years. He knows such luck may not reoccur.
The last thing Gavin remembers is being sat in the middle of a booth, surrounded by Kappa Kappa Gamma ladies. One kisses his cheek while the other brushes his flowing Bieber locks to the side, gazing into his eyes. “You’re just so refreshing, Gavin. No SAE boys have such a… such a… joie de vivre like you.” She sighs. “You came in and were like a shot of espresso. You’re like being bathed in sunlight.” That is all Gavin needed to hear before needing a change of pants. But lord knows he couldn’t leave then.
Upon waking up the next morning, he was the hero of LXR 2. But without the memory for his peers to live vicariously through, Gavin could just replay his flashes of memory over and over. It was enough to last a lifetime. Or at least two more years.
