Welcome to The Ride

Welcome to The Ride

After hours of arguing amongst the Critic staff over who would sacrifice a week of their life to go along to every single O-Week event, Critic decided that it made more sense to recruit a fresher. Easily overawed by the trappings of the Critic office (we have a cat), we enrolled a first year tourism major at UniCol to report for us. This is her story.

Monday

I just saw more people orgasm than I thought I would ever see in my life. Turns out you werenít allowed to take your alcohol into the stadium, so after sculling the contents of my drink bottle in front of a security guard (and doing a quick tactical in the ladies) I found myself staring fuzzily down at the events unfolding below. It started off pretty cheesily Ė that or I just didnít have a clue what the fuck was going on Ė but then things started getting really good. The hypnotist, Guy Cater, made people lose their shit thinking they could see through the crowdís clothes, and that when they touched his hand they were having the best orgasm of their life. But there were a couple of dudes on stage that werenít fooling anyone, and what the hell was with that Becky chick? Even though sheíd been de-hypnotised, she kept climbing back on stage and sitting there laughing like a total mental. After the show ended we decided to go back to the hall for shots before town, but after my sculling session in front of security I was already sufficiently razzed. Next thing I knew I woke up in my bed cuddling a bucket Ö so my Monday night town plans were a total fail. I WILL get there tomorrow.

Tuesday

It was Tuesday, and it was Toga time. Iíd heard a lot about this party, and I was reaaaally excited. I was not going to fuck out. I was going to make it to town. I got to the stadium a little late and it was PACKED. Everyone was half-naked, wrapped in alcohol-stained sheets, and having the time of their lives. I bought myself some beer and proceeded to prove how much of a lightweight I really am Ö and then it was dancing time. Oh, my God. That guy Ö heís beautiful. Isnít he on my floor? Things were getting a bit wobbly Ö grinding up against him, a cheeky pash here and there Ö a blue circle being placed on my tongue (which he assured me was legal) Ö more grinding and pashing Ö and then everything suddenly got AMAZING. Where did that guy go? Oh, there he is. Fuck, heís really looking good. Letís dance!!! Where are we? I just want to touch EVERYTHING. Those glowsticks are incredible. Everything just feels so good Ö

Wednesday

I woke up with no idea where I was, except that it was someone elseís bed. Wait, what? I donít do things like that. What the hell happened? It was day time already. My phone, ID, and room key were sitting in a small pile on the floor (thank God), but all I had to wear was a toga. Things were not looking good. I rolled over to check out the boy that I must have thought was good enough to be my first one night stand. Nope, turns out it wasnít the hot boy from my floor. Serious case of the beer gogg Ö wait. Did I take something last night? Iíve never done that before either. Things just got a little bit worse. Shit. And then the hangover kicked in. I was going to vom. I was going to vom right there. I leaned over the side of the bed, and chundered all over his floor. By some small miracle, he didnít wake up. I didnít know his name; surely he didnít know mine, right? I didnít even hesitate. I slipped out of bed, wrapped my toga around myself in a way that tried but failed to resemble a dress, and juiced out of there before he could wake up and step into the hot soggy present I left beside his bed. Fail. Fail in every single way. There was only one thing for it. I had to claim this Walk of Shame like I was proud of it. And I nearly made it all the way home before I saw someone I knew. Oh shit, that definitely WAS the hot boy from my floor. Well, that ship just sailed. Iím never drinking again.

At least by the time the comedy night started I was semi-recovered and the hangover (moral and physical) had been pushed to a corner of my mind where things that I donít like to think about go. It was totally worth dragging myself out of bed for too Ė itís no wonder Rhys Mathewson has won awards, he stole the show. The two Dunedin guys were pretty good too, but Rose Matafeo was a little too awkward and I felt uncomfortable for her. Dai Henwood on the other hand Ė he was fucking hilarious. When he started actually mimicking the ďstinky minge lickĒ (donít worry girls, youíll suck plenty of smelly dicks too) the chick behind me whispered ďreally? Are you serious? Is this actually happening right now?Ē Too good. Iíd never been to a stand-up show before but everyone around me was laughing as much as I was which I figured was a good thing. Then I was determined not to have a repeat of last night, and just slip quietly home. Oh, The Cook you say? Donít mind if I do. Youíll buy me a drink? Sweet deal! Fuck, I did it again.

Thursday

Iíve never really been a massive fan of hip-hop. All that sometimes-political-sometimes-offensive rhyming Ö itís not really my thing. But everyone was going to the hip-hop night and, I mean, itís O-Week. You just have to. I managed to get my hands on some of that legal stuff you can get from Cosmic so that took the edge off, and I headed down there feeling a little nervous about how my night was going to go. The show changed all of that. They were AWESOME.
Homebrew had a lot to say Ė ďwhoís fucked? Whoís fucking hiiiiigh?Ē (ME!!! FUCK ARANA!!!) Ė and when they told everyone who listened to More FM, The Edge, and mainstream music to go home to Justin Bieber and tell him how much they want to marry him, they became my new idols. Then David Dallas came on and shit got real. The awesome thing about hip-hop is that you can get your ghetto booty out and itís completely expected of you. And it was student night! We headed to Monkey and got sweatyÖ Shots you say? Iíve got to get into that pit full of people and grind. Oh, hellll-o. Hi there. Whatís your name? No, no deal. Iím not doing the Walk of Shame tomorrow. Youíre coming home with me.

Friday

Well, that was fun. Iím getting pretty good at this student thing. My body is starting to protest though. Might have to take it easy at Shihad tonight.

I couldnít wait to see these guys again. Iím a big fan. The opening acts were great too Ė those boys from Knives at Noon are total babes, and the guitarist from Cairo Knife Fight? What the fuck. Coolest looking person ever. But then I looked around and realised: everyone was so oooooooooold! How long have Shihad been around for now? I mean, talk about devoted fans Ė they braved the soggy drunken students just to stand at the back and scream the lyrics that most people didnít really know. I was impressed.

By the time Shihad actually came on I was really into the swing of things. O-Week, Schmo-Week, I could do this every day. Beer, beer and more beer, and then onto Monkey and The Cook. Do we ever go anywhere else? Shots! Shots! Shots! Uh-oh, that doesnít feel too good. Gaaaag. Shit. And then I became that embarrassing fresher spewing their guts out in the gutter outside The Cook. A friend under each shoulder, I was dragged home, and my hair held while I spewed up all of the nothing that I had eaten that day. Ooops.

Saturday

And then the day finally arrived. Shapeshifter. EVERYONE was going, and there was no way I was missing out. I paced myself, and was amping when we arrived. Sunshine Soundsystem and Nightshade really got the crowd raging, and then Shapeshifter came on. I donít think Iíve had more fun in my life. Shapeshifter in their element are completely indescribable. And I wasnít even on anything (alcohol doesnít count, right?). I pushed my way through pinging students losing their shit left, right and centre and managed to get myself hoisted onto some massive dudeís shoulders. I could see EVERYTHING. There were people and arms and water everywhere. I closed my eyes, raised my arms, and soaked it all in. Life couldnít get any better. And then I felt my hoist stumble. As he fell backwards, I had no option but to jump Ė in heels. I knew what was going to happen before it actually did, and as I went over on my ankle I realised I almost didnít care. That it was all worth it. Shit, I must have been wasted. Security dragged me over the barrier, and sent me home. Oh well. At least it was just a sprain.

Sunday

Everything hurts. I canít move. Iím not even going to bother getting up today. Bed, movies, and water. Best week ever. Iím never doing that again.

After submitting her report to Critic, our Tourism Fresher has disapeared into the ethereal world of first year. If you see her, buy her a shotÖ Or maybe suggest some alcohol and drug abuse counselling.
This article first appeared in Issue 2, 2012.
Posted 4:53pm Sunday 4th March 2012 by Staff Reporter.