BALD-FACED TRUTHS Welcome to Georgetown … Now Leave Me Alone If you can remember back a few months ago, there was a cacophony of voices welcoming the incoming freshman class to Georgetown. Administrators, student leaders, various campus publications – they all rolled out the red carpet to greet “the most talented incoming freshman class ever.” Please note that I was not among those voices.

Instead, I wrote an article in these very pages encouraging freshmen to go out and drink, drink responsibly and to simply enjoy college. I now realize that I neglected to mention that they should not do any of these things in my presence.

Freshmen, go home.

That’s right. Don’t come to parties I’m at. Don’t take classes I’m in. Don’t even look at me. If I ask you where you live, and you reply “New South,” consider the conversation over. I’m looking for a job these days . I just don’t have the time.

It’s not that you’re difficult to spot. A steward would blend better at a love-in than you do at an upperclassmen party. What, you think we don’t notice you on N Street, 55 strong, all fighting over which party you should head to? “Hey, I heard there’s still some beer left at Riggs 23!”No, that’s kicked . let’s try to get into Champs again.” Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t I buy you a bottle of vodka so you can all stay in your room tonight and make believe like you’re adults. I won’t even tell your RA.

Now, please allow me to be a bit more precise in my criticisms. Let’s just concentrate on the male members of the class of 2005. Due to the stable nature of my romantic relationship, I don’t consider myself part of the crowd that gets freshman girls drunk for sport. This crowd exists, and I’m certain the more savvy females have learned who to avoid by now. If you see me, though, you can be sure you’re safe. Sure, it might be fun, but I don’t want to step on the toes of the B Frat or the editors of The Academy.

So, these comments are directed to you members of the freshman class who go from party to party, praying for the day when the phrase “house beer!” will have even the slightest significance for you. For those of you who, when you do finally reach the keg, feel the need to impress your friends and peers by inserting the nozzle directly into your mouth. For those of you who approach me while I’m talking to my friends, pretending like we’re old pals because you introduced yourself to me 10 minutes earlier.

I promise you that I’m not alone on this point. My language may be a bit more harsh than most, but the sentiments are common.

Listen, I’m sure you’re all wonderful people who are smart, witty and know your Congressman’s shoe size. I’m sure you all have great ideas to improve the food at New South and bring air conditioning to Yates. You are probably the greatest thing that ever happened to Georgetown. That’s what they told me when I was part of “the most talented incoming freshmen class ever.” Of course, that’s also what my junior friends were told as part of “the most talented incoming freshman class ever.” Maybe you’re getting the point. You’re talented and gifted, but so are the rest of us. The only difference is that we’ve figured out how things work around here, and you’ve still got your training wheels on.

Don’t take any of this personally, please. And those of you freshmen who are considerably larger than I am know that I’m not speaking about you anyway. The point is, being pushed around as a freshman is what college is all about. That and napping. When I was three years younger, I was thrown out of parties all the time. I wandered aimlessly around Georgetown with 40 of my closest friends, searching for a full keg like it was the fountain of youth. But those days are long over. I have my own parties now, and so do my friends.

You’ll have your own parties soon, too. And you won’t want freshmen there either. I promise you. When they stand in line at your keg, trying to push their cup an extra inch closer to your face, you’ll remember this article and know that I speak the truth. So don’t feel too bad. The circle of life will complete itself and you’ll be able to pick on kids younger than you, much as I am now.

And won’t it feel good.

Bald-Faced Truths appears every other Tuesday in The Hoya. The author can be reached at

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