The Bystander

Bennett C. Braddock III ’08 sauntered into Grafton Street, made his way to the bar, and ordered a Newcastle Brown Ale.

“Liquor before beer, you’re in the clear,” he proclaimed, although the slight slur to his words suggested otherwise.

He adjusted his tie—boldly striped in yellows and greens—and lifted up his khakis just a bit, the classy way, as he sat down at a barstool.

“Punch season, isn’t it the worst?” Bennett said between swigs.

It can’t be so bad, I suggested. You booze until your liver begs for mercy, hobnob with some of Harvard’s most distinguished surnames, and leave early enough to catch dinner in the dining hall.

It was 6 p.m. He was enjoying what I hoped was a nightcap before most had even finished their appetizers.

“We’re trying to be all classy and shit, and we send out fancy invitations to all these pussy sophomores,” Bennett muttered angrily. “But we’re really just binge drinking in a basement.”

I looked up from my own pre-dinner brew. A rare moment of clarity for this Psychology concentrator whose blood was probably bluer than his blazer?

“Seriously, dude, it sucked—my tie kept getting in my face while I was trying to do keg stands.”

I sighed, and reminded him that most of my friends stopped hanging out in basements at about the same time they got their learner’s permits.

“Our basement is awesome!” he yelled, incredulous. “It’s got wood paneling and all these sweet-looking old paintings of animals.”

Bennett proceeded to chug the rest of his beer, throw back his head, and emit a belch that could probably be heard in Somerville. His immediate vicinity smelled like juniper berries and Rose’s lime.

Then he added with a scandalous wink, “When they see our place, the chicks practically check their panties at the door.”

The man certainly had a way with words. I bet he just sweeps them off their feet. So, any lucky ladies tonight?

“Naw, man, that’s what I’m saying. It was a punch event tonight, all dudes. It completely threw off the ratio.”

By my back-of-the-envelope calculations, at all-male institutions the ratio is usually a bit off. Besides, wasn’t he too once one of those hopeful, doe-eyed sophomores?

“Yeah, but when I did it, it kicked ass. We got so blitzed that first night, it was awesome! Plus, when I was punching, all the dudes in the club were really cool. Now…”

He trailed off, realizing the hole he was digging himself into, and used me to climb his way out.

“We wouldn’t have taken you anyways, nerd. You’re totally just jealous,” he sneered, before drooping his head into his hands.

Certainly no arguing there.