“Why are you wearing a blazer? It’s Wednesday night – shouldn’t you be going to Toad’s Place?” one inquired. Another scrunched his face at me, smirking, “Oh, he’s going to be with all of his WASP friends.” I laughed in tandem with them, rolled my eyes, and retorted, “Hey, some of us have class tomorrow morning. Sometimes going to bourgeois events instead of nightclubs facilitates waking up on Thursday.” While they chuckled, the Buckley hall genuinely did serve as an escape for me. When I went to the hall, I knew that no one would shove a lukewarm Busch Light into my hand and tell me to drink up. I knew that I wouldn’t have to waste money to take an Uber back to campus from a repulsive frat house, and I especially knew that I wouldn’t be expected to cleanse the putrid stench of vomit from an overzealous