Do drunk people feel cold? Sure, we’ve all heard our fellow Hoos running down the Lawn belting, “The cold never bothered me anyway,” but intoxication and “Frozen” often go together. Still, one look at the Class of 2018 Facebook page tells us two things: a ton of first years have fakes and even more of them forget their coats. What happens to this drunkenly abandoned outerwear? Some articles are stolen by accident, probably, and maybe the newest Burberry finds a home in the owner of Trinity’s wardrobe, but what about the rest of them? How do these poor jackets feel the morning after? I picture it looking something like this...
Trinity, 7:00 a.m.: A black North Face down jacket (one of 17) squints as light begins to peek through the windows. After feeling a pounding ache deep inside its insulation, it takes in its surroundings. “What happened last night?” the puffy parka wonders to itself, noticing the menagerie of missing clothing. There’s a bra, a few high heels and even a couple pairs of pastel panties, all hastily jettisoned by lustful bar patrons. Puffy Parka notices, however, that most of the clothing pieces are coats just like itself — hell, some of them are the same brand! From fleece to wool to dry-fit, there’s enough fabric for the bar to become a factory in China. Trinity could pass for a Burlington Coat Factory — the Patagonia a frat boy bought when he wanted to look outdoorsy but still wealthy, one guy’s spare Columbia that still has vomit on it from last weekend, the Barbour coat some girl promised her dad she’d never lose — they’re all here, and more.
As the outerwear begins to realize its fate like Puffy, they begin to self-segregate: the L.L. Beans and Eddie Bauers cluster and talk about how they went hiking the other day, the Patagonias huddle and make fun of the North Faces and the Barbours pretend they are actually warm enough for this weather. One Tommy Hilfiger even tries to talk to the Ralph Laurens, who inform it that it hasn’t been relevant in years. A few vests with fakes in their pockets compare pictures and swap stories about all the bars they’ve snuck into, while the handful scarves and hats left by owners not stupid enough to forget their warmest layer sulk in a corner.
All of a sudden, Puffy feels a rectangular object vibrating in its pocket — a cell phone. Obviously, Puffy checks the Facebook notification and soon all the other coats have crowded around to see who is missed, whose “I lost my [insert humble brag about brand and price] coat” post got the most likes and whose owner is still too hungover to look for them. Overwhelmed by all the attention, Puffy does what its owner does when faced with stressful situations: blasts Taylor Swift. As music blares from the iPhone speakers, the coats begin dancing, some gyrating in the middle, others clustered on the fringes bouncing, and one Burberry even flirts with an imitation — it’s too dark to see labels so many jackets make regrettable choices. From a distance, it looks like a normal night at Trinity. That is, before everyone gets hot and loses their coats...
Annelise Kollevoll is a Humor writer.
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