The size of Boston University has both advantages and disadvantages. Personally, I feel the pluses far outweigh the minuses. The immensity of this place was one of the reasons I wanted to come here. Although it was daunting to be lost in a sea of freshmen six semesters ago, I was still excited by the fact that even though some of my classmates from high school enrolled here, I would not have a problem avoiding them for the rest of my life.
With the undergraduate enrollment alone surpassing 15,000 students, our student body is so huge, and consequently, diverse, that there are few common causes around which students can rally. There’s a big outpouring of support for our Beanpot-champion ice hockey team, but other than athletics and a disdain for our rivals in Chestnut Hill, the only thing BU students seem to all agree upon is we like to complain. However, last Friday’s Back Bay Ball succeeded in creating a feeling of unity amid all of the diversity.
In an effort to improve relations in my torrid love affair with the Student Union, I bought two tickets for the Ball. I dusted off my old prom dress, spiked heels and sequined thong and had a fantastic night.
Not only was it fun to go with a group of some of my closest friends, but this event also proved to be a great opportunity for me to see acquaintances I hadn’t seen in a while. My date and I chose to meander around the perimeter of the room to kill time until my inhibitions were lowered enough for me to dance. The reunions became so frequent, and the conversations so predictable that this became a running joke between us.
Over and over again, I would recognize someone whom I knew by some obscure means, and socially lubricated by my bank-breaking mixed drink, I would shout over the ambiance, “Hey! How’s it goin’?”
Desperately trying to remember my name and hesitantly shaking my outstretched hand, this person would respond, “I’m great! How are you?”
“I’m fine,” I would say. Then, I would introduce my date. “This is Alexa.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” they would say, shaking hands with my lovely date and then introducing me to their date, whose name I either wouldn’t be able to hear or wouldn’t be able to remember in five minutes.
At this point, there would be some mindless banter over some mutual interest of ours. “Hey, how is that thing that we both did two years ago in which I no longer have any interest?”
“It’s good.”
“That’s good to hear.”
If you’re reading this right now and wondering if I’m talking about you, then, of course, I’m not.
A few times, these conversations would progress with, “Hey, I read your column in the paper.” Before I would have an opportunity to express my gratitude and inform them that I wouldn’t sign any autographs, they would throw their drink in my face. This says a lot about their hatred for my writing, since each drink in my face probably cost $20. I’m going to have to remember to talk to my agent about getting a bodyguard, or at the very least, a midget dressed in a clown suit to carry my drinks and a towel.
The point of this story is not that my column sucks, because if you’ve read this far, you already know that. The point isn’t even that midgets are funny, because I think we’re all aware of this. The point I’m making is people may think the size of our school causes students to become no more than a face in the crowd, but I think that the size and diversity of BU facilitates enough social opportunities to let almost everyone fall into his or her own niche. Even though I joke about it, it was fun to catch up with some people with whom I hadn’t touched base in a while. It was also encouraging to know more people than my mom read what I write here every Monday.
After we had finished engaging in Seinfeldesque social awkwardness, we went back to the group with whom we had arrived and cut a rug for the rest of the night, frequently pestered by shout-outs for An Tua Nua. Party on, party people! Right, whatever you say, guy. Just try to give us a few more Jackson Five songs. I’m serious.
The diversity here is wonderful and has contributed to my own social niche. I have friends from all over the world. Right now, The Bahamas and Levittown, New York are neck-and-neck in the competition for my senior year Spring Break destination. The only common interest I share with all of my friends is we all laugh when one of us makes an ass out of him- or herself. Other than that, there’s really no explanation for why some people are friends with me — we just are.
After reflecting upon all of this, I’ve decided all of the social opportunities provided at this gigantic institution only give me a greater appreciation for my small groups of great friends.