The reception is in the room across from where the Student Check Cashing window used to be. Fletch, Joanna, Michael, and I all laugh, remembering how every Friday afternoon, the entire campus would line up at that window to cash a minuscule check for the weekend. The window’s gone now, replaced with a large bank of ATMs. I make a mental note to return there later to get money out of the machine, not because I need cash, but because it will be the first time at Purdue that I’ll have stood in that spot and had more than $10 in my bank account. [Related note? I still seek out ATMs that dispense bills smaller than a twenty. Finding one that spits out five dollars is like spotting a unicorn!]
While we’re in the reception, we notice all the large oil paintings of dour old men sitting in leather armchairs. Fletch insists we take a picture of him posed that way, too. He looks eerily similar to the University’s founder and it makes me laugh, wondering if John Purdue was just goofing around with his old drinking buddies when he had his portrait done, too.
I meet the other award recipients and they’re all lovely and in no way act like I don’t belong with them. I may or may not suggest we pose in a human pyramid when we get our photos taken, but I’m pretty sure they know I’m joking. [If I weren’t, I’d be a base. Am very sturdy.]
The most surreal moment of the night happens when I enter the ballroom because I’ve been here before. The last time was twenty-four years ago when I was working for the University’s catering department. There I was, a few weeks from flunking out after my sophomore year and I found myself filling iced tea glasses at a banquet for the outstanding graduating seniors. As the speakers droned on about all the amazing accomplishments my peers had achieved, I felt very small and insignificant.
But here? Today? I get a sense of where I’ve been and how far I’ve come, and I feel a sense of belonging. So when it’s time for me to step onstage and give my speech, I do it with confidence and panache and when I’m finished, I swear the audience claps louder for me than any of those graduating seniors so many years ago.
There’s a point later in the ceremony when we accept our awards and everyone acknowledges those who helped them get there. During my acceptance, I thank all of the usual sus-pects, including Brian Lamb, founder of C-SPAN, who happens to be a special guest at the dinner. You see, he didn’t hire me for a C-SPAN internship back in the day, primarily because the time I met him I’d been marinating in gin for a few hours and I may or may not have mentioned how much “I likesh Congresssshhhh.”
I give a quick summary of the story, adding that he shouldn’t worry and that everything worked out for me without the internship.
And in that moment, I bring the house down.
After the ceremony, hugs are exchanged and photos taken, and I finally feel like I’ve officially graduated from college and into adulthood. All in all, this has been a great end to a spectacular evening and the next time Purdue asks, they’re getting the first check I’ll have voluntarily written them and trust me, it will be for more than ten dollars.
This is where I wish the story ended.
It doesn’t.
After hitting the ATM—two hundred dollars, because I can!—we change into our bar clothes and meet Joanna and Michael in the lobby. The plan is to hit Harry’s for a couple of drinks and then head to more grown-up venues with our local friends. In the years since I’ve been gone, the town’s become a bit of a destination, full of gastropubs and wine bars, which sounds really nice. Besides, Harry’s is bound to make me sad because when I walk in there, it won’t be like it was back in the day. Rather, I’m going to run into nothing but college girls in skimpy tank tops [That’s what the kids today wear, yes?] as Ke$ha and Katy Perry tunes play on the jukebox in the background.
No, thanks.
Then the damndest thing happens—we enter Harry’s and it IS 1993. The place looks—and smells—exactly like it used to and the old friends we’d hope to meet are right there at the door while Steve Perry wails in the background about holdin’ on to that feelin’.
It’s like Brigadoon.
Only with beer.
Shocked and awed, Joanna and I make our way to the back of the bar to see if our names are still carved into the wall… and they are! The jukebox begins to play Van Morrison and the college girls—who aren’t all tarted up, by the way—shriek and begin dancing to “Brown Eyed Girl,” exactly the way we used to do.
Um, what is going on here?
Did the Liberal Arts department re-create my favorite parts of college here in this bar? If so, color me impressed.
In honor of the occasion, I switch from the wine I’d politely sipped at the dinner to Long Islands because it feels so appropriate.
As for the rest of the evening, I’ve pieced together what I can via tweets, photographs, Facebook posts, and video.
9:00 P.M.—More Long Islands for everyone!
9:30 P.M.—What time is it? Why, it’s Long Island time!
9:44 P.M.—Pace myself? You want me to pace myself because I rarely drink and when I do it’s a couple of glasses of wine? Pfft! I’m fine! No, I’m more than fine! I’m DISTINGUISHED!
10:00 P.M.—It’s Moms’ Weekend at Purdue and I’m a tad dismayed to realize that all those ladies who look like me are here with their college-aged kids.
10:30 P.M.—Hey! I don’t look like one of those moms. I look young! I bet those kids think I go here! Yes! Drinks for me and my undergrad friends!
