Saturday I attended my five year high school at Clery's, a pub downtown known for its exceptionally crystal-clear glasses. Nothing is hazy at Clery's, although things can get a little foggy if you aren't careful. I was reticient about going at first but I am oh so grateful I did. I believe it was the first time since I went to an 18+ club right after high school that I had to show my ID. I pulled out my chipmunk-faced "under 21 until 2007" license with pride and a feeling of identity. It was more gratifying then when I was actually served alcohol- sans ID- in Puerto Rico.
Some highlights of the evening of revelry and visionary impairments included locutions with old friends and acquaintences, showing my ID to get in, drinking ice water for free ninety-nine, people asking me where my Mormon Peeps were, and broken down boundaries. However, it was quite loud. For example, I asked one classmate if his dad still lived in Belmont, and he told me yes, he did, and that in fact he was over on the other side of the room. He thought I had said "Dan" (his roommate), when really I had said "Dad," alluding to his previous roommate. He told me Dan was working on a PhD at UPenn, which puzzled me greatly since I thought he had just told me his Dad did still live in Belmont but was getting a PhD at UPenn, and had driven up to attend his son's five year reunion. People bring all sorts of significant others to reunions (boyfriends, girlfriends, fiances, dogs, and even a pet chinchilla) but a father was a first. The end of the story is that after my classmate left I turned to his girlfriend and asked her, "Sooo... Is his Dad really in the corner doing shots?" And then it was all made clear. Clery's is appropriately named. I am legitimately excited for my ten year reunion.