One Crazy Adventure Does (NOT) a Person Make
February 29, 2008

The other night I was sitting glassy-eyed in front of my philosophy paper on morality and happiness without a clue. Granted, the paper required extensive knowledge of some philosophers and films, which was not entirely unwarranted considering the course is aptly named “Philosophy and Film.”
As I ruminated on my horrendous fate, stuck in the dorm on a perfectly good Thursday party night, my brain suddenly put two and two together: The pressure to be a morally decent person is rampant on campuses. From external pressures like gossip and the honor code to insecurities propagated by the unsure superego, how does the typical Tufts student, or anyone for that matter, make the “correct” decisions? It’s tricky trying to calculate this moral tightrope and still live to tell stories of debauchery over weekend brunch.
People deal with the strain of standards in their own way, which is more or less how students deal with everything as well. Let’s look at both sides of the see-saw: the textbook “do-gooder” versus the wild “troublemaker.” The most intense brownnosers are easily recognizable because of their staple do-gooder type equipment. They scurry to class under weight-filled backpacks, hunching their heads between their shoulders and fearing the imminent doom of arriving only 15 minutes early. They tremble at the word “cannabis” or any other illegal shenanigan. For that matter, they’re also the ones who look down their noses at pre-gamers in the room next door who aren’t 21 yet! “Those foolish hooligans,” is what they mutter, or so I’d imagine.
The “troublemakers” are casually hedonistic. These so-called ruffians ignore life’s demanding drudgeries and care little for reality’s expectations. Instead of facing societal responsibilities like homework and trash-emptying, the “troublemakers” opt for more pleasing activities that garner instant gratification. Maybe they throw things out of windows, or steal road signs, or perform ridiculous self-damaging stunts and call themselves the crew of Jackass. At parties, they have no problem crossing rules or unwritten boundaries.
I’ll show you what I mean. For anonymity’s sake we’ll say my friend “Tiffany” was out drinking one Friday night after seeing “Cabaret” (the very fine musical produced and performed by our own Tufts students). After a cultured night filled on the one hand with promiscuous prostitutes, and on the more serious side the rise of the Nazi party, Tiffany and her friends decided to partake in a little alcohol consumption.
Back on the home front of South Hall, Tiff and the gang prepared for their night out. Our midnight protagonist took five shots, and subsequently allowed herself a quick reprieve, for she was feeling a bit buzzed. The dramatic irony here is that as the night wears on, we’re better at counting shots than Tiffany is. Read on.
The first stop was a friend’s birthday party all the way uphill. Though Tiffany had not planned on drinking again so soon, she also had not planned on discovering Southern Comfort, street named “SoCo,” a particularly sweet type of liquor. One double shot couldn’t hurt.
At this junction in the story the do-gooder remembers how Driver’s Ed said the first thing alcohol impairs is judgment. In this instance it would do good to heed the do-gooder. That double-shot led to six more shots of tequila over the course of only a few hours. For all you math majors, that’s around 11 shots.
That night, it seems Tiffany pushed her limit. She eventually passed out and both her and her unhappy liver woke up under a tree in front of Houston. She called her friend “Maxwell” to help her get home to South, and so Max came to save her. He called over two random guys to help carry her, but around Dewick, decided to call TEMS.
From Tiffany’s first-hand account, I learned that she woke up at 9:30 a.m. with an IV in her arm and dorm-sickness in her heart. After all, waking up to an empty white room with an intravenous reminder of the now-extinct night before is hardly as hospitable as being merrily shaken awake by your roommate. So, still very inebriated, Tiff plotted her escape. In doing so, she also escaped from any last remaining thread of expected behavior.
She remembered a story of someone else who had been in a similar situation and left the hospital. After a cursory glance over the shoulder for oncoming nurses, Tiff saw her opportunity for freedom. Stubbornly ripping out the I.V. (and she has the bruise to prove it), she stumbled out of the hospital. Maxwell replied to her garbled text message to wait for his rescue vehicle. Instead, Tiffany picked a direction and walked toward it for a half hour. To the disoriented Tiff, Tufts magically apparated in front of her. Details on the journey remain hazy. That day, Tiffany stayed drunk until six o’clock in the evening.
I’m told that people are most often shocked, impressed, or disgusted by this story. I was both impressed and baffled. Flabbergasted, if you will. Now here’s someone who makes her own rules, independent of what other people think. I’m by no means condoning massive amounts of alcohol consumption. Nor am I forever casting Tiffany as a miscreant, because one outrageous adventure does not a person make.
Ralph Waldo Emerson, the protagonist in my morality paper, would agree that blindly following others is inferior to forging your own path. Tiffany learned her limits through experience, and in my opinion that’s the best kind of education.
Better than textbooks, and cheaper too. I mean: isn’t taking risks what life is all about?
Sophie Pack is a freshman who has not yet declared a major.

Wow! What a great writer! someone should definitely give this girl more credit! Her message is so relevant, Hey! Why isn't she in charge?
Posted by: OMG at March 4, 2008 4:42 PM