I knew Vassar was for me when my overnight-host person told me about “Mug Nights.” I had told her about my extensive mug collection, and she jumped at the chance to inform me of how every few weeks Matthew’s Mug opens and students come from all over campus, containers in hand, and are awarded a hot beverage of their choosing. When I found out that there was no Mug Night that weekend, I might have cried a few tears to the God of Missed Opportunities. I knew I had to go! I even wrote about it in my college essay, entitled “A Mug’s Life.”
I spent hours trying to pick which mug to bring. Should I go for irony and bring my Sexy Grandpa mug? Or stick to the classics with my mossy green mug? As I browsed through the dozen or so mugs I brought with me to school, I realized I probably shouldn’t have left the rest of my collection at home. Every mug is like a child to me, whether its my personalized handmade mug by Martha Stewart or the one depicting Calvin lighting up with Hobbes.
As I marched to The Mug in my perfectly-coordinated and comfy flannel jammies, I felt proud that I had picked one of my favorites, a real conversation starter: “Ask me about my extensive collection of novelty mugs!” With Bart Simpson slippers on my feet and hope in my heart, I knew it was going to be a great night. I met up with the girl who hosted me, and was a little surprised that she was wearing a small black dress instead of pajamas. She didn’t have any good mugs of her own, so I eagerly supplied her with one similar to mine: “Ask my friend about her extensive collection of novelty mugs!”
In line for The Mug, I noticed that no one else had their mugs in tow, but I just figured they were freshmen who weren’t in the loop. I gave my friend a knowing look and she started giggling out of what I could only assume was pure unadulterated anticipation. As we descended the Spiral Staircase of My Destiny, I thought of how many cool people were down there with similar mug-centric interests and dreams. Hot chocolate! Coffee! Tea! The hot beverage possibilities were endless. My host never told me, though, that there was music, too! It seemed a little too loud to necessitate mug-centric conversations, and I made a mental note to ask the DJ to turn it down a tad once I got down there.
Of course, it was much too dark for me to find the hot beverage dispensers right away. After scanning the perimeter intensely for a cappuccino machine, I figured it was in the middle of the huge mass of people who seemed to be enjoying themselves a great deal. I pushed and shoved my way to the middle, mug in the air as to protect it at all costs, and found nothing but a mass of people making out, no mugs in sight. “Where’s the hot chocolate?” I screamed, earning me a few weird looks from people grinding particularly aggressively. With tears in my eyes, I tried to wiggle my way out of the middle, but suddenly felt someone grinding on me. I had no idea who this person was, but I knew that my flannel pajamas were not the ideal outfit for this environment. I started sweating profusely, wriggled away from what apparently was a man, saying, “No, thank you.” He shrugged and started grinding on someone else as I again attempted to remove myself from what I now know was just a yucky make out/dancing party. I’m gonna be honest—I’m more than a little disappointed by the lack of mug lovers at The Mug. It was like the time thousands of muglovers signed up for MugCon only to realize that it was about celebrity mugshots. I wanted redemption! But in all the grinding and lack of hot beverages, I somehow lost my favorite mug! Who was going to ask me about my extensive mug collection now? Retracing my steps back into the center of the Pit of Despair, I found my mug on the ground…crushed into a million little pieces, just like my soul.