That's What You Think: Dude, where's my camera?

Published 10.30.01 in The Heights, Boston College


By Annie Barrett

In an effort to go against the pervasive Halloween theme of The Heights Features section, TWYT will focus instead on something BC students are still trying to figure out: What exactly happened this past weekend?

Believe it or not, alcohol often makes things quite unclear. There were conversations, cross-town voyages, miraculous discoveries of large bags of chips … and you're almost positive there was a football game at some point. Anything executed during the drunken period – including this column itself – is based on mere speculation at best.

The artful effort to "piece the night together" usually occurs after waking up in the single-digit p.m. in a really weird position in a really weird location. A parched mouth, unusually sharp vision (contacts left in), a cup of water (spilled over your CD collection) next to a bottle of aspirin (if you're lucky), long, smelly tresses of Smoky Beer Hair and the feeling that there's no way your head will ever move, ever again are also common after particularly ambitious evenings.

Your boots remain under the covers until the middle of the night when, instead of removing them, you simply relocate them. Oh, weird, my boots are still on. That makes sense. I'll just hang them off the side. All is well.

The tasks we choose during that hazy period can be most interesting and surprising. Instead of completely destroying a room – which happens often – sometimes a room is wildly changed for the better. Drunken dishwashing and vacuuming are rare, but have been documented.

In April 2001, a certain Walsh bedroom underwent complete rearrangement – including bed placement – by two wasted, giddy, relatively muscle-less females, prompting the ever-popular morning-after question, "How did we do that?"

It is absolutely necessary, given the countless "hilarious at the time" events incurred throughout an evening, that each group assign a trusted member to be the Designated Rememberer (DR). This loyal soul should observe everything, but interfere with nothing.

If, for example, one drunken idiot swings open the door to Fast Eddie's, remains in the threshold for too long and is about to get demolished by the returning door, the DR must not step in. She must let things happen naturally. That drunken idiot simply wasn't destined to remain standing. You can't mess with fate.

The next morning, the DR is the most powerful figure in a group of friends. He or she should relay the night's events truthfully, leaving out particularly incriminating details:


You: Yo, what happened to my knee?

DR: You bumped it when you fell. You tripped face first into rocks and gravel, rolled a few feet and landed on the T tracks.

You: Oh, I'm such a klutz. Oh, I'm such a champ.


But all too often, the DR will end up just messing with you.


DR: Hey, were you serious last night when you told everyone you were "really into bestiality'?

You: What! Really? Oh, my God, am I?

DR: Yeah, dude, that's messed up. Watch what you say, all right?

You: Yeah, sorry. I have a lot of internal issues to work out. Where's the beer?


The DR is also responsible for directing the herd in times of crisis, especially after the oft-repeated questions, "Wait, where are we going?" and "Where were we five minutes ago?" He or she can also go around with a magic marker, tattooing everyone per beer drunk, but that gets pretty annoying.

Eventually, the DR relinquishes all duties and falls prey to the seductive monster, alcohol. He or she wakes up under the coffee table just like everyone else and when asked to properly relay the last night's events, can only conjure up random words and images such as "funnel," "lost jacket" and "spilled tub of relish."

The only proof of the evening is the roll of film, 97 percent of which was snapped away during a lively 10-minute time frame. The first picture, of course, is of the entire group, smiling alertly and fully clothed. Or, as often happens, someone else's smiling group, since you guiltlessly swiped a stranger's camera and didn't care.

So what did happen last weekend? Maybe we weren't meant to remember.

And speaking of remembering, can the awful, heartless thief please return my camera?

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