I am not a city girl. This is to be expected since I come from a town that makes Mayberry look like a sprawling mecca of culture. So when my best friend from home, a junior at The George Washington University, expressed some doubt about me coming to D.C. for Fall Break (yeah, I know -- "Reading Days" -- but if you really spent the long weekend reading, the joke's on you) it was understandable.
"I'm not sure you can handle it," she said reproachfully. But I assured her that I could, that I was a chameleon who could fit in anywhere. Her reply was short and to the point.
"You mosey," she said. "You don't even walk right for a city. I'm going to have to put you on a leash."
This comment didn't deter me. I had confidence in myself and knew I could handle the visit. This was before I realized the undeniable truth -- George Washington University is two hours and a world away from our Charlottesville bubble.
When I got to GW, I first was struck by the fact that absolutely no self-respecting female (besides, perhaps, my best friend) would be caught dead in anything other than a black top and designer jeans. There are no ribbon belts, no polos and definitely no pastels of any kind. Everyone on the campus (and I use the word campus VERY loosely) looks like they just fell out of an episode of "Growing up Gotti." Wait, forget that last line. My friends assure me that I am the only one in the world who watches "Growing up Gotti."
My first night in D.C. we went out to a club and -- much to the chagrin of Best Friend -- I wore a pleated skirt and a white polo. I may well have had fashion leprosy the way people looked at me. At one point, I was legitimately concerned they might come after me with torches or burn me at a stake. Thank God I didn't flip my collar.
Before we got to the club, Best Friend gave me a warning: "These people have more money than God, and they are going to buy you an insane amount of drinks. DO NOT DRINK THEM ALL." I smirked and told her not to worry. After all, I am a University student -- a Wahoo. She needn't worry about me holding my liquor. I was still going on and on about how I was THE master of the club scene (er, because we have so many clubs in C'ville and all) when I attempted to step over the velvet cord that separated me from proving all of this.
I tripped over the damn thing and went sprawling. Super. My grand D.C. entrance was foiled by a pathetic piece of velvet. To make the situation even better, I brought down the pole that held one end of the cord on the foot of Best Friend's buddy. The way I see it, it was a fair trade. She got to see me fall and paid for it with her big toe. The laughing crowd behind her, however, went unpunished. Best Friend just shook her head and immersed herself in the sea of black shirts and dark jeans. If she hadn't been wearing a white skirt, I swear I would still be in that club looking for her.
True to Best Friend's prediction, everyone wanted to buy me a drink of this and a shot of that. I was raised in a culture of Southern gratitude, so I took all of them. Just to be polite.
An indeterminable number of SoCo lime shots later, I liked city life. I liked it so much, in fact, that I decided to frolic in the street only to have the girl with the freshly maimed toe scream, "Erin, don't play in the street!" At some point, I decided to lose my Steve Madden ultra-trendy pointy-toed shoes (aka straight jackets for the feet and my one attempt to fit in with the G-dubbers) in the pursuit of comfort. Unfortunately, I also lost my wallet. I apparently dropped it in the street mid-frolic only to have it nearly missed by a speeding SUV and picked up by Maimed Toe, who let me panic about losing it for awhile. Real sweethearts they have up there at George Washington University. Or maybe it was retribution for the throbbing phalange.
When we got back to Best Friend's swanky one-person apartment, I hugged her and thanked her for an amazing first night in D.C. Then I threw up. We have a strict policy against holding hair back (watching someone lose it is too tough of a vision to get out of your head), but she was sweet enough to throw me a hair tie. It gives me extreme peace of mind to know that Best Friend is doing her part to instill a little bit of southern hospitality into the George Washington University.
Erin Gaetz can be reached at gaetz@cavalierdaily.com
Read More
Students brave the cold for a whirlwind sorority rush
By Mia Tan | YesterdayStudents recount a mix of emotions from rush, with some disappointed after dropping from the recruitment process and others ecstatic to join Greek life.
Top 10 ways to avoid burnout this semester
By Sam Saks | 2 days agoAs you settle into this semester, try implementing these 10 tactics to take care of yourself and wave goodbye to burnout.
Top 10 things I learned the day TikTok went dark
By Elizabeth Parsons | 4 days agoI am poised to bestow newfound pieces of wisdom from my short-lived TikTok detox.
