Ah yes, Unofficial.  

The “official” time of year to party with friends and get absolutely plastered before 10 a.m. Unlike me, hundreds of people love this Saint Patrick’s Day themed pseudo-holiday more than most things.  

I’m not someone who is big into the party scene. I don’t drink. So, I had an interesting idea: what’s EIU’s biggest party of the year like without the rose—or in this case green—tinted glasses? 

To start the morning off right, I went to McDonalds, one of the favorite spots for a pregame meal. Instead of downing at least a couple shots, I ordered something just as risky: a bacon, egg and cheese biscuit and large ice water.  

Oh, I know. How mischievous. 

Our group then met up and headed to the first house. 

It started out uneventful, but whoever had the aux nailed the vibes with the 2000s recession pop that I, along with many others, grew up with.  

I have never seen college students happier to be awake before 9 a.m.  

Professors, you need to take notes. In order to get students to come to your morning classes, consider supplying at least four handles of booze and moving class to your local rooftop. That’ll definitely draw a crowd. 

Besides some reminiscent music, I did get hit on. Twice. Before 10 a.m.  

There are rare times when pick up lines work. Most of the time they don’t. This time was no exception.  

Sitting in uncomfortable eye contact while “Sexy and I Know It” by LMFAO played, the guy meshed two pick up lines together. 

This was a completely different ball game now. The line started with, “Are you from heaven?” and ended with, “cause you’re the only 10 I see.”  

He then did the equivalent of a double text where he hit the reverse version: “Are you from Tennessee? Because you look like an angel.”  

What a gentleman.  

I couldn’t tell if the combination was on purpose or not, but if I wasn’t stone-cold sober and very taken, it may have worked on me.  

I had to let him know I have a boyfriend but was flattered nonetheless.  

Speaking of relationships, sorry to another different guy at this party who found out his girlfriend cheated on him. He thought his girlfriend’s potentially scandalous lover was one of our friends and then made it our problem for 10 minutes. Hope things get better dude. 

The second house seemed to have recruited a couple of DJs who surprisingly delivered.  

It started off strong when the giant crowd finally made its way to the backyard and instantly lost its mind when “Crank That (Soulja Boy)” played, paired with a fog bubble machine. The organizers then started to throw inflatable volleyballs into the crowd, which also helped rev everyone up. 

While everyone was losing their minds, I couldn’t help but watch a man who was easily in his 30s try and get over a broken fence and almost rip his pants. Keep in mind this fence had an obvious dent dipping well below waist level where people took the path of least resistance. It was probably past noon at this point—closer to 5 o’clock somewhere so this behavior was acceptable.  

There was an opening where he could walk around the fence 20 feet away, but to be fair climbing over a fence is much cooler, so I can’t fault him for that.  

The dance circles were one of my favorite parts. Everyone was vibing with one another no matter the dance moves, and I just loved to see people enjoying themselves with others.  

Throughout the entire day, the only gripe I had was people’s obsession with throwing things.  

I may not understand because I’m not quirky or drunk enough to get it, but it just seems dangerous and downright annoying to throw a bottle or can. 

My outfit had a lot of thought put into it and now it’s soaked in cheap beer someone bought from Panther Liquors.  

I guess I haven’t had the life-altering experience of chucking something into the Chucktown crowd. Added to my bucket list. 

After an hour or so at the second house, our group decided it was lunchtime. Whoever planned locations knew what they were doing, making the second house closest to, you guessed it, McDonalds. 

If I thought McDonalds was packed that morning, boy was I mistaken. They had a line for the women’s bathroom out the door and for those who didn’t want to wait, trudged through the war field of the men’s room. While risky, I somewhat respect the decision. When you have to go, you need to go.  

After a hastily made McDouble and ice-cold Coke for lunch, our group decided to head to the third party. 

On our way to the house, our group stopped at Dunkin so we could use the bathroom. Coincidently, everyone else in Charleston thought it was a great idea too.  

I was there when Dunkin opened, and I should have remembered critical information.  

There was only one bathroom.  

While waiting for the line to slowly get shorter, I had a brief nonverbal heart to heart with one of the employees. At this point I had emptied my 40-ounce bottle of water. 

Making eye contact with this kind man in his mid-thirties saved my life that day. I was parched; I was tired. But without a word, he refilled my water for free.  

I don’t know if he knew I was sober or not, but I didn’t really care. I felt so supported.  

After nearly 15 minutes of waiting to use the bathroom, our group reunited. Word started to spread that the third house party had been canceled. Hearing that, I saw a tsunami of green start making its way back toward the second house. 

Before people made it back to the second house though, I witnessed the future generation of business geniuses at work: the Girl Scouts. 

They set up shop on the intersection of Fourth Street and Lincoln Avenue right across the street from Jimmy Johns.  

These little girls have capitalized on Charleston’s most impulsive population, drunk college students with no regard for their bank accounts. I was sober and some Trefoil cookies or Adventurefuls would have been absolutely divine.  

Our group decided to cut it off there, partially due to some of us having to work that evening and the rest wanting to take a quick nap.  

After getting to my job, I realized I had a sunburn. The UV was a four. Not my best look. 

Overall, this Unofficial was nothing like the one my freshman year I had covered taking photos. This year, people were much friendlier, partly due to the lack of a police buddy at my side, no bullet proof vest and no camera.  

So, what’s my conclusion about sober Unofficial?  

If you like to people watch, don’t mind the smell of a blunt or drunk cigarette, are OK with the occasional incoherent conversation and can make it to a bathroom in time without getting ticketed, you may enjoy yourself.  

I certainly won’t go again. I’ll leave the parties and cramped yards to y’all. 

Rob Le Cates can be reached at 581-2812 or at rllecates@eiu.edu.