Allegedly, in this college town, there is one bar that many frequent often and others only once. It is, perhaps, a rite of passage. “That’s where y’all hangout,” remarked my mother as we drove past the Old Stone Jug, a local bar a few blocks from campus. I had never heard of the Old Stone Jug, and since I was remarkably tired and hungry, her comment slipped past my conscious mind as I continued googling “places to eat in Hamilton, New York.” However, my well-researched mother was correct – to an extent. Upon moving into my dorm I have heard frequent references to “The Jug” – not The Old Stone Jug, as “townies” and non-Colgate students refer to it. These references have been vague in definition, but noteworthy in individual expression. Some giggle at any mention of the bar, others scowl and warn me to stay away, but few speak directly about what goes on there. It is difficult to decipher which of these myths double as facts. Descriptions of a small room with too many sweaty people come up most often. Standing on tables is supposedly prohibited, so much so that the music will stop if anyone does. Bathrooms leave much privacy to be desired, and though the names of food available there are known by many (i.e. the “Jug Dog”), few go there to find a late night snack. Despite the ominous warnings and unusual recollections I have heard, I also listened to stories about people break dancing and everyone in the club stopping to cheer them on. Regardless of whether I get the quintessential Jug experience, I am looking forward to comparing the real thing to my preconceived notions.