BELL LAP: Reflections on Seniority

Lately we’ve been having this recurring dream in which Natalie Portman decides to change the ending to V for Vendetta and blow up Harvard instead of Parliament. What could it mean?

We’re not quite sure, but we have thought on this: after walking by it for four years, the University is finally putting down the fertilizer for us. The clock is ticking, and for better or for worse, we’ve reached the final 100 meters of the bell lap.

Aside from the predictable thoughts of “I hate this place and everyone in it,” seniors will also be looking towards the future with questions like, “I wonder how soon after getting home my parents will leave me alone so I can masturbate?”

Many will find themselves bombarded by the question, “What are you doing next year?” which is eager beaver code for “I don’t care what you’re doing but listen to me because I’m working at a top I-banking firm in the city.” This, in turn, is code for, “I will work until I’m miserable and then develop a drug habit to fuel my unfulfilling social life.” It’s a bit like the WWII-era Enigma code machine, if you replace the Nazis with a bunch of d-bags.

In other words, it’s finally Senior Spring, and chaches are flying out of the woodwork at record pace. Over spring break, an aggressive portion of the senior class moved en masse to Acapulco, where they found out that you can lead the Harvard student to Mexican waters, but you can’t make her have sex with anyone.

The University’s policy of bizarrely timed breaks that keep students from interacting with students from other colleges worked wonders. Aside from the odd Stanford sighting, Harvard kids basically looked at each other and thought, “Even though I feel sorry for you because your ‘tan’ makes you look like a burn victim, I still don’t want to juice you. Would it be terribly rude if I stopped talking to you and went to hang out with my friends Jose Cuervo and San Miguel?”

“But Chris and Chris, didn’t you go to Acapulco? You sound a bit salty...”

Research. Next question.

Now that we’re back, the mythical Senior Bar season (Senior Bar every Sunday through Thursday!) is upon us. This is for Harvard students what one of those chocolate Advent calendars is for a four-year-old child. Every day, you get to open up a new window and have a little piece of chocolate, which is vaguely satisfying but mostly it just tickles your pickle for more chocolate. Sometimes you just lose it and eat like 5 pieces of chocolate at once, and then get so blackout that you have to skip a few days to let the dust settle.

But needless to say, every silver lining has a dark, foreboding cloud around it. When you arrive at these Senior Bar events, you can never forget for a moment where you are. Just before the bar opens, a collection of strange “seniors” you’ve never seen aggressively festers around the entrance to the bar, licking their lips like Pavlov’s dog to get their grubby fingers on a few nibbles of the shitty free food. It’s not “Senior Appetizers,” buddies. Please calm yourselves.

Unfortunately, that’s only the tip of the iceberg. It’s a depressing thought to think that you could create a contest in which there are no winners, but the magicians on the Senior Committee have conjured one up. The “Last Senior Standing” contest offers a prize for the seniors who attend the most senior bars. “Attending” simply means getting a card stamped, thus ensuring that loads of window shoppers can “pop in,” get a stamp, then frame the certificate next year in a Morgan Stanley office. Ideally, there would be a breathalyzer at the door—if you blow below a .15, no stamp for you, chief! Better yet, you would have to increase your blood alcohol content at each consecutive Senior Bar—then we’d really see who’s the last chach “standing”!?!?

The only up side is that a brave legion of sophomore and junior girls storm senior bar looking mad thirsty, thereby pressuring senior girls into acting sluttier. Way to go!

If you wish to contact the Bell Lap, email thebelllap@gmail.com. Just don’t write in saying that column’s politically incorrect...it’s not. Next week we will be running a contest to choose our successors, so get out your umbrellas out and brainstorm!