One of the inconveniences of the infamous “walk of shame” is that it absolutely does not matter what you did the night before. Even if you were just chilling with your friends and then crashed at their place, if it looks suspicious, everyone assumes the worst.
You shacked!
“The walk” is especially uncomfortable on a Sunday morning. Everyone who would be somewhat sympathetic to your plight is still in bed. You are a stranger among the variety of conscientious joggers and power walkers, faithful churchgoers who are out at that time and those out for coffee or a stroll.
If your walk requires that you to travel from an apartment in the Central West End all the way back to campus, you might be drawn into the kind of existential quandary that often accompanies these moments. You begin to seriously question the value of those nights with drinks and dancing. Were the nocturnal revelries of last night worth the effort? Are they simply “fruitless deeds of darkness,” which should be given up in order to better exploit the day? Shall I turn and awake to the light? Sure, but I’ll probably just roll back over.
These considerations become especially poignant if the day is clean and brisk. Fresh air tastes so much better than the stale haze of perspiration and cigarette smoke. The self doubt can become over-whelming if you chance upon a beautiful young couple with an innocent-looking toddler, bundled from head to toe, with only his little red cheeks and curious eyes exposed. With any luck, you will be too dazed and embarrassed to become upset by any of this.
In general, it is best to simply accept your lot and strut yourself shamelessly. You think to yourself, “Students can be irresponsible, and I won’t make the same mistake again. This is a rite of passage and important learning experience. I didn’t even do anything wrong. Or did I?”
Taking “the walk” the night after a costume party is particularly inopportune, especially if your last-minute costume looks like a cross between metro sexual and hippie-cowboy. As I walk, I remember the night before-someone had asked if I was dressed as Broke Back Mountain. My friends assured me that I am not that good-looking. Whatever, a 40-year-old intoxicated woman thought so. Later, we realized that I actually looked like a young Crocodile Dundee. Man, I hate that movie.
This “walk” was a strange experience for me. I don’t think that a homeless guy has ever laughed at me before. At least I made him happy.
Then, all of a sudden, I was walking by the Cathedral, where Archbishop Burke himself celebrates Mass. I was amused by the stares of self-righteous astonishment from the parishioners on their way to church. One lady brought her giant Benz to a complete halt in the middle of Lindell Avenue, just to get a good look at me. At this moment, I wish that I were dressed as Jesus with a hangover. Yes, I was out all night partying. Yes, I’m okay with that. I am in college.
Another homeless guy laughs at me, saying that I looked like JD from “The Young and the Restless.” Good. I already made two homeless guys happy and it’s not even noon yet. Add two points to my “good deeds” tally from last night. I’ll even offer the guy a cigarette, which is more than the woman in the Benz offered him. But I understand; she is late to Mass.
“The walk” is very traumatic for young ladies due to the social stigmas against female sexuality. They usually go straight home, hoping that no one sees them. While men are not bound to such strict standards, this freedom can lead them to forget social restraints entirely, as I did about halfway through my walk. This is called a “meathead moment.” Instead of heading straight home as I should have, I decided that I needed some munchies from Schnucks. It is very embarrassing to look hung-over while shopping alongside impeccably dressed churchgoers on their way home. I’m surprised that they didn’t escort me to the beer aisle the moment that I walked in, to encourage my expedient departure. God bless the folks at Schnucks, though; I didn’t catch anyone staring or laughing at me.
Now, do I go straight home, or skirt around campus so that no one will see me? Forget that, I’m walking straight through the Village. Everyone there is still passed out from last night anyway. No worries. I look like sexy-Broke Back-Crocodile Dundee.
John Nolan is a senior in the College of Arts and Sciences.
