Stories From The First Time We Got Written Up


It’s happened to the best of us. Read after the jump for some thoughts on the point system, harsh RAs and freshman innocence/stupidity.

The First Time I Got Written Up (astag_rocky)

For some reason, the basic freshman inside me loved the idea of bar night. Maybe it was the same way I felt about lanyards, until the second day of school when I realized how much you sucked if you left one waywardly dangling from your (most likely) beige khaki pants. Bar night represented a distinct difference between high school and college: the reprieve from the ills of the working week and the promise of doing some debaucherous shit on a Wednesday night.  For sure, the Corner Pocket was no Vines on Church. In fact, it couldn’t have been in a more remote and random location in Middletown. But, you had to get some satisfaction knowing that if it weren’t for Wesleyan, The Corner Pocket probably would not exist (and I assume will soon file for bankruptcy now that Vines is open).  One night, my freshman-self decided not to shut my turn-up off once I headed back to Clark, and I strode triumphantly out of the fourth floor elevator ready to conquer whatever was in my path.

Unfortunately, an RA was in my path. Despite failing to show any signs of overt boisterousness, I began to talk somewhat loudly, ok very loudly, as I tend to do, and without warning the RA swooped in and wrote up myself and the entire group I was with. We begged. We pleaded. We asked why we hadn’t been given a warning. We were told something about “quiet hours.” I threatened to call in the National Guard and began to pretend I was a lawyer as if that would apply to this situation.

In the end, I faced down an Area Coordinator in Bennet, arguing every minute point of what constituted “privacy and tranquility,” and whether or not I had violated the space of the people on that hall (THERE WERE NO PEOPLE OUTSIDE THEIR ROOMS MS. PAGANO COME ON). Despite attempting to dazzle the AC with my charm and wit, she quickly dismissed my argument and gave me a point. It was ok, I survived. But not before I had my illusions about bar night shattered, realizing that Wednesday night was not a turn-up night for everyone, as I would soon learn as a sophomore.

The First (and so far only) Time I Got Written Up  (D) 

Some background before I get into the story: As a freshman I was always super paranoid of getting written up to the point where I would leave pre games super early sometimes (Yep. It’s lame. I know. I got over it). There were some close calls but thankfully points were avoided and by second semester I was more or less “chill.” Then I got written up for the stupidest thing ever.

Ok so this was Wesfest week. It was a Thursday and I was hanging out with a couple of friends in a room in Bennet and one of my friend’s roommate was supposed to have a “little get together” so we thought we’d just all chill together with one or two prefrosh and tell them about how cool Wes was.

Fast forward to like 12pm and there’s 30 people in this relatively small room, there’s probably like 5 prefrosh and pretty loud music, but you can’t hear it in the hall (we checked). There also might or might not have been a small amount of “refreshments”. Someone decides to open a window because we’re all dying from heat and then 10 minutes later, someone knocks on the door, we open it, and its the Bennet Area Coordinator looking very, very pissed off. This is like a pretty short woman but she’s giving us death glares to the point where I think everyone tried to step back.

Breakdown of her speech: “What time is it” Us: “12:14” “When are quite hours for those that actually go here (aka not prefrosh)” Us: “12…?” Her: “NO its 11!” Then a 10 minute lecture on how we’re terrible influences on the prefrosh because she can “smell” (not see, smell!), alcohol and that this is disrespectful to the whole community AND THAT WE WOKE HER UP! during which we’re all looking at each other like the prefrosh weren’t even drinking, no one could hear us except outside with the open window, so how could we possibly wake you up…

Anyways the prefrosh were all freaked out because she threatened to influence their admissions or something, the future RAs are all freaked out because she said it’s gonna go on your record, and I’m just freaked out because I’m getting a point and all this first semester paranoia is coming back so I went and complained and cried to my RA about it (thanks for dealing with that, Thad). We were all freaked out up until the trial during which 30 of us were in a room with the three SJB people, and one girl that was there wasn’t even at the get together and had no idea what was going on. They sympathetically listened to us complain that the AC was unreasonable, and seemed very supportive except then we all ended up either getting 1 or 2 points. But it all turned out ok! Basically, what I learned is that you can never predict when you’ll get written up, prefrosh will get you in more trouble, and also never pre game in Bennett.56645520

My First Time (Wesleying contributor from the South… you guess who)

Let me tell you a couple things about the south. You’re allowed to have a gun in your car in the school parking lot during hunting season. You drink moonshine like it’s milk. And, Jesus knows, you always pray that the grape juice at communion is actually wine. Having grown up in the center of all that shit, I didn’t think it was actually that important to hide your booze. My first weekend at Wesleyan, I was hanging out with some friends in my dorm. They were drinking vodka, and I wanted something a little more comforting, so I went to my room and grabbed a bottle of Angry Orchard Hard Cider. I thought that I should go ahead and open the bottle in my room, because (for some reason, freshman logic?) I assumed that the kids going hard with the vodka wouldn’t have a bottle opener. I opened the bottle and took it with me up two flights of stairs and all the way across the hall. I stopped to make small talk with some new people who recognized my face from Twitter — I’m famous, didn’t you know? — when two peasant RAs walked up to me. “Excuse me, are you under 21 years old?” “… yes…” “Can I see your WesID?” It was truly the saddest moment of my life. I watched the RA write my name on his godforsaken clipboard and — much worse! — pour my cider down the drain of the nearest sink. My life was over. My parents were going to find out. God would never forgive me. I remember going to the Christian community dinner the next night filled with remorse, wondering if I could ever sin worse than I had that night. The next weekend I took 7 shots in the span of an hour, and that’s a weekend trend of mine that’s only just begun to let up… I guess I’ve got a little more to repent for these days than that one bottle of hard cider I got caught with my first weekend.

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