Casual sex. Why is sex so casual in Thurston? Most first-year students probably didn’t come to school still carrying their v-cards, though we’re sure there has to be some small minority. I know for sure that I never thought there was such a place where one could end up cooking grilled cheese on his Thurston-illegal George Foreman grill while less than a foot away his roommate is doing his thangy-thang, negotiating how much of the sandwich he was going to get after his not-so-champion finish at the same time. Only in Thurston could the culinary arts and the art of love find their place on the mantle side by side.
What else could be expected from a dorm that combined a screwball deadhead from Westport, Conn., a loud and rowdy dude from Miami, an overly sassy guy from Manhattan and your friendly boy next door from Danville, Pa. Add your John Mayer look-a-like from Rochester and an angry Italian from Westchester, N.Y., to the mix. Our remaining Thurston group ranges anywhere from our Long Island sorority girls across the hall (gotta love ’em) to our 40-carrying Cali boys to one dude whom we know from Barbados. This mix can only lead to one more run over to Pizza Italia to pick up some Dutch Masters.
Basically, strange things happen in Thurston. On one particular Thursday, at about four in the morning, all buzzes and parties had subsided. Conversations were simmering down and most everyone had dispersed from the room. All that remained were some empty bottles, your two writers and neighbors (Miami and Connecticut) and a few others. Outside the room, two voices very reminiscent of drunken Long Island seemed to be moving closer and closer to our room. Immediately, the room quieted, the door opened and heads turned. Smiles grew on our faces because at the door stood two fairly attractive, fully intoxicated females informing us that they were “here to dance.” Being the gentlemen we are, we agreed unanimously that we were in no position to stop these girls from achieving their goal. But, then again, who would? Before we even had the chance to respond, the show had begun. After a few minutes of sloppy, non-rhythmic boogie, the girls found our attention waning, so they did what any healthy college coed would do. If you’re not receiving enough attention, rip each other’s clothes off. As you can imagine, we found this a little more educational than the previous display of sloppy, wasted dancing. It’s hard to ignore sex when the walls in Thurston reek of it. If they could talk, who knows what shadiness would be uncovered.
You see, every year has it. There’s always at least one room, one tight group of friends, one reason to stay up until the early hours. All this excessive partying and games of Madden make it possible for us to be a part of the constantly evolving craziness that goes down nightly in Mabel Thurston Hall. From freshmen to seniors to GW graduates, any Colonial can relate. Everyone can still remember at least one story, one crazy episode to bring out during the late-night chill sessions. No matter how many raids, noise violations or random searches that GW’s governing bodies authorize, there are still more shady acts happening here than in any other college dorm in the country. These are merely two of many episodes involving some form of sexual activity that keep us grinning through the night and sleeping through the earlymorning fire drills. Check back later for other educational drama going down in the Thrust-in spot.
