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One of the things I love about this website is the readers. Of course this is mostly because you read my columns and provide me with income, but aside from that I feel like we all have something in common; hatred for same things. Yes, we all love to hate, a very strong action mind you, and I’m right there with you, readers. This is especially true when it concerns people who just want to rain on our big old “fuck yourself” parade that we as fraternity members revel in so often. I hate bleeding-heart independents who think we are chauvinist elitists (which we are), I hate asshole cops that want to bust my balls over some open-container law which they think applies to me (and actually does), and I really fucking hate liberal-arts professors who actually believe their courses will require us to attend class every day (change-up; that actually is bullshit). However, even though there are enough people who want to spoil our fraternal fun every chance they get, let us put aside our hatred for these people so that we can pay homage to the unsung heroes of college towns across the country that make life a little easier.
They’re the guys who would buy you beer while you were rushing, haze you while you were pledging, and take you out when you were initiated. Their time at the fraternity in your eyes was too short because they were gone as soon as you got to meet them, but now they are back in town and they are ready to make up for lost time because they realize exactly how much a profitable member of society can make once a week on payday. The first-paycheck alumnus is an awful lot like the lucky bastards who got to do the Toys-R-Us fun runs when they were 8 years old. They have a short amount of time, relatively infinite income compared to college bar well prices, and they are grabbing everything they can before time runs out and it’s back to work. Since he has no wife and kids to spend all that newly acquired paycheck on, guess who gets to go on the dollar-shot ‘til you puke spree with them? You motherfucker, that’s who. Enjoy pounding Jaeger and Rumpy until you puke vomit.
Corner Store Clerks
Jiffy store clerks are interesting people. If you spend enough money at the same place, they eventually treat you like there is some sort of VIP list for people who don’t bitch about the constantly broken ATM or the awesomely vulgar bathroom graffiti. At my corner store (a stereotypical gas station with shitty pumps, cheap beer, and Indian owners), the guy who works behind the counter knows exactly what I want based on the time of day I walk in. If it’s before noon, he’ll already have the hangover juice rung-up before I get to the counter. If it’s mid-afternoon, a can of Grizzly Wintergreen will be pulled for purchase upon my entrance, and most importantly he always fills me in on the best beer deals and will occasionally float me a six-pack for being a loyal customer. That kind of relationship is something that makes things a lot easier. There is no bullshit small-talk, no asking for my ID, just a rhetorical “what’s up?” when I walk in and a friendly “have a good one” when I leave. Trust me; this is a nice thing to have when you don’t want to be spending any more time hungover in a gas-station feeling like a construction worker ear-fucked you with a jackhammer for the entire time you were asleep.
Most of the time when people think about TA’s they imagine a slender individual who walks like they just endured performing in their first Tijuana donkey show and latches to the professors teat like a bear cub yearning for that sweet letter of recommendation sustenance. However, some of these people are actually pretty laid back and could give a shit less about unimportant things like “rubrics” and “academic integrity” as long as they get their fucking credit. They’ll come to class right on-time, if not a few minutes late, be pounding coffee, and letting the class discuss the subject material because they are the type of TA that was also getting shit-faced instead of doing the reading. If you happen to spot them at the bar the night before class, they’ll usually shoot you a wink from eyes that can only be matched in bagginess by yours when calling attendance, or even better cancel class altogether. This is always nice considering you won’t have that awkward Debra Lafave-esque moment in front of a bunch of people that don’t understand why a TA would wink at you. Lafave fucked a student. I can’t believe they call that kid a victim.
Easy Going Drug Dealers
Anyone who has dealt with a sketchy dealer can attest to the fact that a laid-back dealer is a good one. No one likes to see their “guy” shadily tweak about a room like a meth-head when they are only there to pick up negligent, personal-use amount of anything illegal. The easy going drug dealer may be the most underappreciated person on this list. The guy doesn’t own a gun, doesn’t hound you about paying the minute you get what you’re asking for, and will always let you sample what you are about to purchase. Moreover, they also realize that you are just their to pick up and that you don’t want to “spark up” and “listen to Floyd… man.” Unless he’s your best friend, he should never suggest that shit. Anyways, anyone who makes purchasing narcotics seem like a nonchalant visit to your cool uncle’s house can only have your best interest in mind.
Bouncers/Bartenders Who Don’t Care
Everyone has their own idea about the perfect college bar, but the people that really make these establishments so great are a good bartender and/or bouncer who don’t give a shit as long as you aren’t causing too many problems. The bouncer is typically in his mid to late twenties, and he definitely doesn’t want to kick you out. He’s the kind of guy who knows exactly what it’s like to be underage trying to get into a place, and probably has seen you walk into the bar with 7 different ID’s but knows your face and actual name. He doesn’t care about all of this because you are the one using the fake and if the ATF decides to douche it up and stroll through the place you are the one held liable, but he’ll still give you a heads up about it. The bartender is just as easy going. You think the guy behind the counter couldn’t see discrepancies between the name on your fake and the name on your card and put two and two together when you were underage? Think again. When your time comes buy the guy a few rounds for dealing with your ass and he’ll probably buy some for you as well. If you treat them right, they’ll remember your face, and they’ll always take your order when the bar is slammed for happy hour and you are stuck behind a three deep row of people at the bar. Better yet, check the receipt next time you close out. You’ll probably notice a few of those bottom-shelf doubles managed to disappear from your bill.