Controversy abounded after last week’s Majors Night, which took place on Tuesday at Toyon Hall. This annual, hedonistic bacchanalia, infamous for its nigh-immoral levels of intellectual promiscuity and academic intoxication, witnessed countless students fumbling in the sweaty crowd, desperately seeking out that special something.
For some, the quest for “Major Right” ended happily: the group of students in the corner who spent the whole night partaking in oral pleasure at the Linguistics table, the girl seduced by the foreign charm of the French and Italian departments, the still-undeclared junior who finally got noticed by the Feminist Studies faculty.
But every great night is followed by the morning after.
Such is the story of sophomore Kevin White, who woke up Wednesday morning with more than the splitting headache and overwhelming sense of shame that greets us all with the sound of the alarm.
“There was somebody in bed with me,” White recounted, shivering at the memory. “A Major Advisor.”
A rude awakening indeed for young Kevin; he went on to say that he was swept up in a Conga line that processed from table to table, taking any brochure that was handed to him without so much as asking what was in it. “It was a mistake,” he admitted.
“A huge mistake. I should have had someone there to monitor my intake, or I should have just written and brought my own brochures, I don’t know.
”
As Kevin’s professorial companion donned his jacket and tip-toed out the door, the sophomore threw up his hands in defeat, wondering “What am I going to tell my PMA?”
