Column: R.I.P. Senior Pass
Published: Thursday, September 13, 2012
Updated: Wednesday, January 9, 2013 19:01
A couple of weeks ago, I was rudely disturbed during game of Mario Kart with my roommates by two students knocking on my Mod sliding door. They began aggressively pitching the Senior Pass to us. It contained tickets to multiple events, including pub crawls, a beer pong tournament, and a party at the top of the Prudential Building. The next morning, I woke up at 8:55 a.m., an extremely rare occurrence given my dream fall schedule, and purchased a Senior Pass. Despite the appeal of the actual events, I bought the pass for entirely different reasons.
Given the lack of Greek life and relative size of the typical Mod or off-campus apartment, the average Boston College party has roughly 50-75 attendees. Usually most of the partygoers have a unifying theme; they are all part of the same club, or sports team, or former freshman floor. Maybe even they all work for The Heights. Regardless, it is extremely unlikely you will see all of your friends together at one party. They are likely spread out all over campus and Brighton, and you will only be able to hang out with a small fraction of them. In contrast, this golden ticket offered the opportunity to hang out with a huge portion of the senior class. I would get to see my roommates and other close friends, obviously, but also classmates, former acquaintances, and even long lost passengers of the soul-crushing 8:45 a.m. Newton bus to campus. While small parties where I personally know everyone can be fun, I also yearn for the stereotypical large-scale frat party. Since setting the world aflame and joining a fraternity appear to be mutually exclusive, the Senior Pass became the ideal opportunity to turn my vicarious enjoyment of Animal House and Old School into a reality. Instead of a toga party in a dingy basement, though, the Senior Pass offered the Top of the Hub and entire Boston skyline as a backdrop.
My thoughts shifted abruptly to a high school graduation flashback. Three and a half years ago, my senior class sat in the bleachers of the gym, a mere hour away from collecting our diplomas. Our class adviser stood up in front of us and announced that in all probability this was the last time our class of 256 students would ever be in the same room together. Then he burst into tears. As he sobbed uncontrollably in front of our shocked class, I had the sinking feeling that he was right. With three years of hindsight, it has become even clearer. Forget the entire senior class, I haven’t even been in the same room with all my high school friends since graduation. Every summer, I seem to drift further apart from my high school life. Friends I hung out with every weekend during high school, I see once a summer. The cracks in my college social life are already beginning to surface. Friends are accepting job offers in other cities, or applying to volunteer groups that will pluck them from the BC bubble and place them in far-flung countries. As I confronted this sobering reality, the Senior Pass began to resemble a Project X-style event to me, minus the alarming amounts of ecstasy and mediocre acting. Instead of one final party though, there would be six. Six last chances to party with the whole senior class. The bucket list possibilities were endless. With this romantic notion in mind, I eagerly purchased my Senior Pass tickets.
Unfortunately, the Senior Pass was cancelled Monday night, killing my romantic notion as effectively as Stokes Hall snuffed out the Dustbowl. Instead of a persuasive piece suggesting you purchase the Senior Pass, this column has become its eulogy. I fervently hope that other opportunities to fraternize with the entire senior class as a whole will arise, because in eight months I will be sitting in Alumni Stadium, my former class advisor’s words echoing in my head.