A hot dog and a cheerleader walk into a bar … for real though. Two guys dressed as a hot dog and a cheerleader just walked into the Jug. Either I’m way drunker than I realized or it must be Halloween.

Halloween, or Halloweek as it is commonly referred to on campus, has officially ended. As a kid, Halloween meant trick or treating. Dressing up as cheerleader, a costume I proudly wore for three consecutive years, I went from door to door, pillowcase in hand, trying to collect more candy than my friends. As experienced trick or treaters we knew exactly which houses had the best selection, especially those who passed out the King Sized candy, rather than the pathetic Minis. The streets were bustling with kids of all ages, some trailed by parents who, to the embarrassment of the kid, had decided to be matching sumo wrestlers. At the end of the night we would return home, dump out all our candy on the floor, putting them in little piles according to name and then crash ten minutes later from our aggressive sugar intake.

While the dress up aspect of Halloween remains intact (although a bit more PG-13), Halloween to a college student is just another excuse to party. A red solo cup has replaced the pillowcase I once held in my hand. I am no longer running from house to house asking for Milk Duds but from frat to Jug to frat, running simply to escape the cold. The parents who once trailed behind their eager trick or treaters have turned into desperate freshman boys delusional that they will be able to get into that frat party by hiding behind a hot girl. We are no longer drawn in by quality and quantity of candy, but rather access to drinks and good music. 

Halloween also adds another level of ambiguity to those random hookups that we all either witness or experience first hand. As if being drunk wasn’t enough to make you unaware of who you hooked up with, now all possibility of identification goes out the window and you are left to tell your friends that yes, you hooked up with the banana or the Ninja Turtle. 

The walk of shame is especially shameful post-Halloween. As opposed to the normal walk of shame, when you try to casually walk back in last night’s outfit, the walk back in an orange jumpsuit is an especially public way of saying, “No I did not sleep in my own bed last night.” To those who rocked the costume walk of shame, I have nothing but respect for you.