Editor’s note on April 29, 2024: This article is a work of satire. Most of the content is fabricated and/or exaggerated for purposes of entertainment.
It was Thursday night, and I was dressed like a cheap and salacious homosexual.
Rumors circulated that the bouncers had new ID screening technology. In line, I overheard an underclassman in a striped button-down, as if dressed for an interview at Lehman Brothers, coaching his friend.
“When you get up there, don’t say anything, just show them your ID,” he said.
A posse in tank tops took a selfie in 0.5. A quirky girl flaunted her pair of custom banana condom earrings.
It went quiet as we neared the entrance, where students pouted with puppy eyes. In the end, their fates were in God’s hands.
The bouncer rejected two of my friends. One simply forgot her ID at home and the other’s was not accepted. The rest of us had no choice but to trudge on, in solidarity with those who couldn’t.
With weekend nightlife mostly consisting of house parties, it can be difficult to branch out and shake shoulders, knees, and toes with fresh faces. However, at Mezzo Grille, a smorgasbord of Wesleyan students can mix under DJ Ted’s pounding beats.
At bar night, students are offered the opportunity to see strangers in a new light. It is a unique space to interact with classmates who have only seen you half-awake and eye-boogered.
To gain perspective from an outsider, I interviewed a prominent intellectual on campus, Charit Narayanan ’25, who is 20 years old and has never been to Bar Night.
“I think it is a giant game of hide and seek where nobody knows who’s hiding and who is seeking,” he said.
And to a certain degree, this is spot on.
For a brief moment during senior week last semester, Bar Night was shrouded in controversy. A queer AFAB (assigned female at birth) student, tormented by a full bladder and a crowded women’s restroom, attempted to utilize the men’s lavatory. Before she had the chance to urinate, a Mezzo employee ordered her to leave.
She refused, proclaiming, “You don’t know my gender!”
Mezzo employees proceeded to forcefully remove her from the premises. Once she was on the street, they also called her ugly (a claim I rebuke as she often makes me question my sexuality).
Most of the crowd paid little notice to the confrontation. The laughing continued, drinks stayed full and feet kept dancing as the student walked home alone, up the concrete hill in the middle of the night.
When asked about the situation, a Mezzo employee commented, “93% of them [Wesleyan students] are L.B.G.Q. and we treat them like normal people.”
This semester, several close acquaintances recounted being called females (derogatory) by a group of stocky males. Of course, hostilities can arise when non-athletic regular persons (NARPs) and athletes share spaces. This is only natural. And it’s all for the greater good of Bar Night. Bar Night and Mezzo are core to the Wesleyan experience. It is a crucial social space for making friends, dancing with strangers, and finding love (evident by the many lips touching on the dance floor).
I don’t always attend; sometimes I’m exhausted and cannot be removed from my bed, no matter how much my friends ridicule me and call me names like “Emmnnettt!!” or complain, “Emmett, you’re never any fun!”
But I’ll always love Bar Night. And you should too.
If possible, I hope to continue recapitulating the happenings of bar night in this publication. If you have any experiences you wish to share (anonymously or not), please contact me.
Emmett Levy is a member of the class of 2024 and can be reached at edlevy@wesleyan.edu.