Irony Becomes Her

A Slice of Life

Two of my favorite students are currently pledging a fraternity. (I never thought those two characteristics would go together, but surprises certainly aren't an unwelcome part of existence in a small town far away from my beloved family.) Yesterday, they eagerly (and, apparently, quite sincerely) invited me to the "Yell Contest" that kicked off homecoming last night at Tarleton. I was intrigued.

"What time does it start?"

"10:00."

"Ten?!" Embarrassed recollection. "Oh yeah, this is college."

They had been falling asleep in class more than usual recently, so I believed them when they said they'd been putting a lot of time into preparing their particular "yell." My curiosity was piqued as to what school spirit is really like at Tarleton, and from the little that I knew, this would be quite a representative sample. I decided I would try to go.

My roommate agreed to come with me and I managed to stay awake until seated on the "observer" side of the gym. The yellers would face the other direction, but we didn't want to jockey for position in what was undoubtedly the most crowded and most undergraduate side.

I saw four of my students in the first five minutes, and as it is very awkward to see them in this different setting, I turned away. They cooperated, acting like they didn't see me either.

During the first yell, it was clear that we wouldn't hear the actual words but wouldn't miss much that way because we both knew nothing about Tarleton tradition. They were still well-choreographed, and during my students' fraternity presentation I finally caught sight of one of them. The other was there, undoubtedly, but I hadn't brought my glasses. Darn.

Round about this time, my roommate looked past me with horror and disgust, and finally I caught sight of what she saw. Two freshmen (they didn't even look old enough to be that) were obviously not well, and one had just puked on the bleacher. He was practically carried out by one of his friends (who was, incidentally, one of my students), and a few minutes later others came to coax the other obviously smashed cowboy down.

My roommate scooted far away as the smell drifted over, and the rest of the event was quite disturbed by both the thought of what had happened and its olfactory manifestation. This is Tarleton.

Thank you, God, for LeTourneau.

posted by Lynn @ 5:43 AM