Fest season has sprung and with it comes many questions. Questions such as: How did this beer can get in my purse? Where did these Mardi Gras beads come from? Did I really get Big Mamas last night? Who is Jennifer, and why is she calling me? What happened to my other eyebrow?
It is safe to say that some choices we make while festing might come back to haunt us the next day. Reminders of those drunken decisions can range from a painful hangover to a mysterious bobblehead that somehow ended up in your bag. (If you are missing a bobblehead, please let me know — I don’t know how I got it!) Every hand stamp, text message and glass from the bar is a piece of the puzzle that was last night.
Many stories can be told in the remnants of last night — like the tale of drunken Cinderella who somehow lost her flip-flop on her way home. I will never understand how someone can lose his or her underpants on Court Street, yet I always stumble upon a poor soul’s boxers crumpled against the curb.
The best time to discover these ridiculous leftovers is early Saturday or Sunday morning. All the debauchery of the night before lies quietly in the morning sun with little artifacts of students’ revelry on display. Half-eaten pizza slices, foil and rice and bean explosions and all sorts of party debris tell the tales of last night.
However, sometimes what remains isn’t so amusing.
High Street at 8 a.m. on Sunday morning looked like an alien abduction took place mid-party. A confetti carpet of glass and split solo cups littered the sidewalk, framing the muddy pits that were grassy lawns just yesterday.
The street that was overflowing with festers lay empty, minus a few birds pecking at crumbs of leftover Jimmy John’s. The whole scene was surreal and really kind of tragic.
As I silently walked the post-fest street, a single middle-aged man emerged from a yard, took a deep sigh and began to pick up the countless cups and garbage that lined the street. I wanted to hug him or help him or say, “I am sorry for this mess my peers have left!”
Think of how many smiles we could cause if everyone who fests wrote a thank-you note to the people who clean up the fest messes! I would like to recognize all the High Street homeowners who rose early to clean their yards, the “Can Man” who continues to collect all things aluminum and Athens Waste Management for cleaning up after our shenanigans.
You are the heroes who destroy the evidence of midnight mistakes and dispose of all things trashy.
I know this is the final Spring Quarter Fest Season, but please be considerate and careful! Don’t do anything Zach Galifianakis wouldn’t do. Have fun and get a few funny stories to tell the grandkids, but know that what you do on the weekends may remain — be it on a permanent record or someone’s yard.
Like the weekend sun that always rises, so too will that burrito-induced indigestion, a friendly reminder of a crazy good night. As you squint into the brightness of a spring morning, you may wonder, “Why am I wearing a sombrero?” and “Where am I?” Do not worry, just grab a glass of water and smile — you’re in Athens!
Anna Moore is a junior studying magazine journalism and fine arts and is a columnist for The Post. Is that your bobblehead? Email her at email@example.com.