This post was originally published in my bi-weekly editorial column in my college's newspaper, October 2004. It has been modified from its original version.
Young Lady, we have to talk. I’ve been good to you over the years, have I not? But ask yourself the same thing—have you been good to me? The answer? Sadly, no.
For the first part of my employment, you were great to work for. I got stuff like Campbell ’s soup, pizza, and ice cream. Once in a while you’d make me work by throwing in a little Children’s Tylenol, but I could handle that. Then you went to college.
Kegs & Eggs, drinking games, frat parties, spring breaks, quarter drafts night (luckily for me, you live in Boston, where there is no such thing as quarter drafts night). The point is that you abuse me. Don’t federal labor laws state that employers are required to give a half hour break for every eight hours of work? Where was my break over Springfest? And what about coughing up some overtime pay?
You haven’t caught on that when someone says, “I bet you can’t chug faster than me,” it’s not because they think you can’t chug, it’s because they want to see you do it. And what about those nights out with the “SoCo Girls?” You’re lucky I didn’t force that Southern Comfort back up north and out your mouth.
Flip cup—fun for you, hell for me. Yeah, your team was the reigning champion eight times in a row, and I understand that this made you happy. You couldn’t have just basked in your glory though…you had to play several more rounds. You tried to justify this using feminism, claiming that no one should have underestimated an all-girl Flip Cup team. But I still hate you.
And then there’s Canada . I know you think that our neighbors to the north produce the world’s finest cheap lager, but Labatt and Molson (and at some locations, even Moosehead!) are sold in the United States, meaning that there is absolutely no reason that anyone 21 or over should be traveling to another country for the sole purpose of drinking.
Sure—dancing on tables and standing around in circles incoherently shouting the lyrics to “Sweet Caroline” and “Livin’ on a Prayer” is fun and acceptable now, but after this year, you can’t do that stuff anymore. Well, you could, but not without losing every trace of respect you ever earned.
You college kids are in transition. You work, you study, you pay rent, and you’re independent from your parents, but society still allows you the right to act like childish idiots whenever you’re in close proximity to a beer ball. Have you ever seen anyone funnel a beer or do a keg stand at an office party? I didn’t think so. You know why? Because upon graduation, people are officially considered to be grown-ups.
Every office has That Guy—you know, the one who drinks too much at the Christmas party and starts telling dirty jokes, eventually puking in a potted plant before his colleagues wrestle his keys away and call him a cab—but do you really want to be That Guy?
Sweetie, I know you. You always complain about “wanting to get this crap over with and finally have a real job,” but honey, by the time you’re 30, you’ll be longing for the days when you lived with five other people and invited 200 strangers into your home every weekend to drink cheap beer out of plastic cups. Don’t even think about pulling an “Old School” though.
Since you only have a short time left as an undergrad, I’m offering you the opportunity to make a pact with me—live it up until graduation, but after that, know your role, grow up, and give me a friggin’ break! Too many people’s livers never make this offer—these people keep acting like idiots and drinking like it’s going out of style. You know what happens? Those livers start failing. So spread the word to your classmates—it’s OK to act like a reject and destroy your body if you’re in college, but once you get a real job, it’s time to settle down (at least in terms of partying) and start behaving like the rest of productive adult society. With that, I advise you to give my offer some serious consideration.
On a final note, I will uphold my end of the offer on a conditional basis. Remember your post-LSAT celebration (if you don’t, ask any one of the people you asked 15 or more times if they had any tattoos)? Do you recall going from wine to beer, then to gin, and back to beer? One more stunt like that, and the deal is off and I quit.
Sincerely,
Your Liver
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