Filofax from the Div School Prom
My big activity for the weekend has been tending bar at the Divinity School spring formal. (I did the same last year. See here for a partial write-up.) It was a fun, if very hectic night. You try keeping 200 divinity students in beer and wine all by your lonesome, and we'll see if you don't break a sweat. That's what I thought.
The funniest part of the night was, obviously, when my roommate's fancy corkscrew exploded in my hands. (It was one of those lever-types that require virtually no strength to use.) After about the 30th bottle of wine or so, the device started to shake as I used it. Tiny vibrations within it were beginning to amplify cascading until, in the middle of uncorking a bottle of Chilean syrah, a load-bearing pin flew out, causing the clamping handle to disengage and rendering the whole device useless. Within five minutes I'd taken the thing apart, trying to jury-rig a traditional corkscrew out of the pieces, to no avail. Luckily, this was towards the end of the night, and we still had a few pre-opened bottles and a quarter of a keg of Rolling Rock left. But still, it was embarrassing to have to explain to the divinity students (who love their red wine, by the way) why there was no more. The truly important thing, though, is that the corkscrew, who'd been with us for almost three years, died in the line of duty, doing what he loved. Ave atque Vale, corkscrew. You will be missed.
The other amusing thing was the noticeably different reception I got this year. I've been hanging out at the Divinity School, or with Divinity School students, markedly less than last year, and so I'm much less well-known by the run-of-the-mill Div student. Last year, all but a handful of people knew at least that I was a Yale student rather than a hired caterer (though I did have an amusing encounter with the DJ, who presumed the latter). This year, on the other hand, I was an utterly unfamiliar face to the majority of the people there (and they to I) and so a much higher percentage of the party-goers simply assumed I was a hired hand. It's fascinating how differently people, even people who spend all day contemplating the things of Heaven, treat you when they imagine you're "staff".
Also, since you weren't there, you missed me doing my Donkey Kong impression. (It's basically just me hoisting the kicked keg over my head and grunting "Donkey-Kong, Donkey-Kong" in a gorilla voice. It's a classic bit.)
The funniest part of the night was, obviously, when my roommate's fancy corkscrew exploded in my hands. (It was one of those lever-types that require virtually no strength to use.) After about the 30th bottle of wine or so, the device started to shake as I used it. Tiny vibrations within it were beginning to amplify cascading until, in the middle of uncorking a bottle of Chilean syrah, a load-bearing pin flew out, causing the clamping handle to disengage and rendering the whole device useless. Within five minutes I'd taken the thing apart, trying to jury-rig a traditional corkscrew out of the pieces, to no avail. Luckily, this was towards the end of the night, and we still had a few pre-opened bottles and a quarter of a keg of Rolling Rock left. But still, it was embarrassing to have to explain to the divinity students (who love their red wine, by the way) why there was no more. The truly important thing, though, is that the corkscrew, who'd been with us for almost three years, died in the line of duty, doing what he loved. Ave atque Vale, corkscrew. You will be missed.
The other amusing thing was the noticeably different reception I got this year. I've been hanging out at the Divinity School, or with Divinity School students, markedly less than last year, and so I'm much less well-known by the run-of-the-mill Div student. Last year, all but a handful of people knew at least that I was a Yale student rather than a hired caterer (though I did have an amusing encounter with the DJ, who presumed the latter). This year, on the other hand, I was an utterly unfamiliar face to the majority of the people there (and they to I) and so a much higher percentage of the party-goers simply assumed I was a hired hand. It's fascinating how differently people, even people who spend all day contemplating the things of Heaven, treat you when they imagine you're "staff".
Also, since you weren't there, you missed me doing my Donkey Kong impression. (It's basically just me hoisting the kicked keg over my head and grunting "Donkey-Kong, Donkey-Kong" in a gorilla voice. It's a classic bit.)
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