Turning 21 is EVERYTHING it’s cracked up to be.
Yes, this is a bold statement, but I firmly stand by it and you should not let anyone tell you otherwise. Any 21-year-old who doesn’t think his or her life is completely improved after becoming “of age” clearly isn’t interested in going out or drinking, which is totally respectable. But for those people who like getting their drank on here at UW-Madison and for those of you counting down the days until your legal admittance to bars and liquor stores across the country, let me break it down for you.
Disclaimer: When I talk about drinking, I do not mean getting intoxicated to the level of spewing whatever you had for dinner up and down State Street or blacking out in Domino’s (you know who you are).
Although there are many factors that make having just over two decades behind you truly excellent, the three key benefits of this golden age are composed of brunch, breathing room and an increased opportunity for social interaction.
I’m quite certain there is no meal that will ever surpass the merits and deliciousness of brunch. Plus, with brunch, anything goes. Pancakes? Absolutely. Egg scrambler? You got it. Mimosa and/or Bloody Mary? Yes please. In fact, there are few things better than getting an early-morning buzz whilst stuffing your stomach with a goat cheese omelet or blueberry mascarpone and french toast. It is also one of those situations where day drinking is totally acceptable, and the drinks are better.
Gone are the hours of sucking down Keystone Light so fast it might briefly taste like non-pee; arrived is the chance to casually sip on a delicious blend of tomato juice and vodka or sparkling orange juice. A brunch cocktail makes what would otherwise be a great meal a phenomenal meal. If you don’t leave brunch a happy camper, you’re not doing it right. But be warned, save this special occasion for a day when you do not plan on doing much because it almost guarantees lethargy in its most pleasant and welcome form.
There are few locations for a party more loathsome than a campus apartment building. Yet, unfortunately, that’s where the fun is supposedly going down for those who lack a blacklight-proof ID. I have fallen victim to the suffocating humidity of drunk-people sweat in an Equinox or La Ciel two-bedroom apartment party far too many times to count, and I am certain I’m not alone. While the bars are oftentimes crowded as well, at least they have bouncers posted to enforce capacity limits, so you are at the very least guaranteed an escape route in the event of a fire or other catastrophe. They also have higher ceilings and, turns out, that makes all the difference in regulating temperature (heat rises, who knew?). They’ve also got more than one toilet and will not leave you with some rando passed out on your couch the next morning (well, at least not due to having a party at your place). In a game of bars-apartment-house party, the bars win every time.
When you turn 21, your options for networking and making new friends are nearly overwhelming. For this point I defer to a couple personal anecdotes as proof.
I intern at an advertising agency, and while it was fun pre-legality, I didn’t truly experience full-fledged bonding with my co-workers until post-21st. Bursts of occasional small talk suddenly morphed into me returning to the office for a beer at the end of the day and within an hour finding myself careening around a sharp corner at full keel, tush firmly planted on a longboard, attempting to break the record in a game referred to as “butt shuffle.”
You also can’t run into bachelor parties while getting your “jam” on at a house shindig. Think that’s not likely to happen even while out and about? False. It happened to me last weekend. Yep, my new friend (I use that term lightly here) Chuck is getting married in a week, and after an emboldened and intoxicated introduction to his celebratory mates by a man I like to refer to as Drunken Dan, my (real) friends and I were invited to join in their bar crawl and snag a ride to MadHatters (mind you we met them at Vintage, a mere block down the street).
As I cozied up in a seat as far as possible from the resident stripper pole, I soon found myself speaking Spanish with one of the party boys from Puerto Rico. Inhibitions removed, it turns out I am semi-fluent.
Would any of this have happened had I merely traveled to the standard fair of apartment complexes? I can confidently say no. I guess if there’s anything to take away from my impassioned dissertation, it is that being 21 opens you up to a flurry of new experiences when you approach the age with an open mind. Just be sure to bring a friend or two on board if you decide to join any party buses.
Think you can refute Jaime’s argument with a horrific tale of your life since turning 21? Go ahead and try by e-mailing her at jbrackeen@wisc.edu, but more likely than not her and her roommate will just invite you on the next party bus.
