Stuff Dartmouth Kids Like: Mabel, Mabel, Get Your Elbows Off the Table
When I was a kid, movies about college made it seem like a time when teenagers escaped their parents and went berserk for a couple of years, partying like there was no tomorrow. Anything was acceptable. But the second I got to Dartmouth, the rules started. No tripcest/floorcest. Touch the fire. Rush the field. If you’re going to have sex in inappropriate places, here are the seven locations to do it. You can run around naked, but only through finals or across state borders.
Basically, we do things a certain way here, and for good reason. Many philosophers argue that without norms to govern human behavior, society would devolve into a Hobbesian state of war. (That sentence was ripped straight from a high school paper.)
Any Dance Party, Ever
Honestly, if something untoward happens to you at one of these, you should have seen it coming.
Library behavior is probably the richest subject for etiquette fiends. As such, I’m going to reserve this topic for its own column, so I’ll be brief.
Don’t leave your stuff for eight hours and then get mad when someone is sitting in your seat when you return. It is expected that you will not take up an entire table if you’re anywhere in Berry, but if you’re in the stacks, go nuts. You can even take off your Sperrys in the stacks without causing mass suffocation. When ordering at KAF, it is improper to not have decided what you want and then spend five minutes hemming and hawing at the counter. Stop hogging all the facetime.
The morning-after blitz. Send it. Also, try not to pee in your hookup’s bed. The fact that this is even a thing is kind of sad.
The Awkwardness of Saying Hello
In my life, I have encountered the following awkward greeting situations.
- You are not real-life friends, just drunk friends. You know what I’m talking about.
- They’re in your class, and you’ve been sitting next to them all term, but you haven’t spoken a single time.
- You hooked up, and it got weird.
- It is your crush, you look awful and you are trying to hide.
Don’t lie, you’ve read it. There is only one rule of Bored@Baker — pretend that you don’t go on it. When referring to anything, always start the sentence with, “My roommate told me...”
Try not to take an hour to drink a half. There are people on line here. For all other aspects of America’s Dartmouth’s favorite pastime, theDrunkest Girls) said it best: “Being good at pong doesn’t mean sinking... or saving... or acing or whatever the hell people care about. ... Being good at pong means not hitting low and not being annoying as hell to play against. ... No one will judge you for your pong skills as long as you don’t actively piss anyone off.”*
I played some ’15s one time, and they only hit straight down but still called low on every sink and every hit. Don't do that. And to all of my future pong partners, I am preemptively sorry — don’t get too upset when I try to save and somehow hit the ball over my left shoulder instead. I’m trying, I swear.
Shut up. I’m serious. Wes Schaub is listening.