I’m not exactly sure what I was expecting. All I knew was that I was spending a decent chunk of change from my almost empty checking account to spend 16 hours on a bus and approximately nine hours in the state of Kentucky.
If I wasn’t already questioning my decision-making, now was the time to start.
Although somewhere in the back of my mind my sensible side was yelling, “Poor life choices!” I consciously decided to gracefully give reasoning the middle finger and reply, “Fuck, it’s college. I’ll do what I want.”
I was attending the infamous Kentucky Derby trip hosted by Sigma Alpha Epsilon, and the two midterms I had the following week weren't going to stop me.
I definitely did not know what I was getting myself into and although I may not be able to accurately express what I expected to happen, I can (fortunately) recall what actually did.
As I rolled up to the Sigma Alpha Epsilon house via my chariot, the Intercampus Shuttle, I did not only see some "true gentlemen," but lots and lots (and lots) of girls. I don’t think I’ve been so overwhelmed by estrogen since Panhellenic recruitment. In fact, I’m pretty positive if I cared enough to count, I would end up approximating a 3:1 ratio.
Girls on girls. Oh, wait, you wanted a hook-up this weekend? Some Derby lovin’? Well, you’re literally going to have to fight off the equivalent of any entire sorority in order to get some. Sorry about it.
Fortunately, I prefer not to throw myself at frat boys. I’m not particularly lucky, and I don’t have one particular boy waiting on the back burner. All of this meant one thing: girls' weekend.
After fighting though a mob of people, handing over a signed waiver stating SAE was not responsible for my well-beingand and settling into my seat, I decided to start this trip off with a positive attitude.
The bus ride felt surprisingly shorter than it actually was. Bad music was playing and everyone was in good spirits. In the most basic sense, it was a frat party on wheels.
Surprisingly, “Call Me Maybe” wasn’t played at the start of every hour. Even more surprisingly, the bus driver didn’t want to kill himself by the first rest stop.
Of course, there were a few rumored PG-13 bus hook-ups and a few people who quickly became hot-messes, but overall it was a relatively uneventful bus ride before we stopped at a motel somewhere in Seymour, Indiana.
This was perhaps the scariest part of it all. As we drove off the highway, I saw two florescent signs beaming in the distance, “Econolodge” and “Days Inn.” Promising.
Room keys were distributed and eventually I found myself in one room with one bed and three other girls. As I walked out of the room to go find my other friends, I heard some girl say, “We may or may not contract AIDS from sleeping here.”
I really didn’t have many choices. I was stuck in Bumblefuck, Indiana and I had to make the best of it. On the bright side, rumor had it that no one actually sleeps during Derby weekend. If that was the case, I could get through this.
Everyone slowly filed out of their rooms and into the parking lot. This eventually became the equivalent of a frat party in a motel parking lot. Classy. Regardless, it was a really warm night and a much-needed change of scenery. All my favorite people were collected in one place and I really couldn’t ask for anything more. Until the two police cars drove up to our little get-together.
Cue mad dash to respective rooms.
Needless to say, this put a damper on the rest of the night. I assume most people did what I did: I took a five second shower, put on some PJs and went to sleep. And while Friday night ended up being a little bit of a disappointment, I would soon find out that it was probably for the best.
We had to be back on the buses at 8 a.m. the next morning. To whoever decided that this was a good idea I want to extend a “fuck you.” This may seem a little harsh, however, I have absolutely no idea why someone would think I would want to spend three hours in a parking lot before spending another seven hours at the Kentucky Derby itself. Decisions on how to spend those three hours before the racetrack doors opened were wholly personal. Some chose to chat and mingle and others actively decided to go completely bat-shit crazy. My personal favorite was the couple making out for a good hour in the middle of this all. It was literally nine in the morning, y’all needed to calm down.
Thankfully, I narrowly escaped having to take care of anyone that day. What I didn’t escape was getting sunburnt and perhaps the more awkward farmer’s tan of my life. Apparently it hit almost 90 degrees on Saturday and operating at the Northwestern-level of intelligence that we are, no one thought to bring sunscreen.
The day itself was broken up by mint juleps, turkey legs, huddling in a tent to escape the sun and getting blatantly hit on by 40 year olds dressed in Vineyard Vines.
Perhaps you may have noticed the lack of the words “horses” and “jockeys” and “race” in this narrative. That’s because during my nine-hour stay in the State of Kentucky, the only horse I saw was a bronze statue that stood in front of the Churchill Downs entrance. As much as I promised myself that this year I would see the race, it just didn’t happen for me.
All in all, I would say the Kentucky Derby trip is one for your Northwestern bucket list. The experience may vary every year, but staying in a shitty motel, spending essentially two days on a bus, and eating fast food for every meal throughout the entirety of the weekend is something that everyone needs to experience. Sure, it’s not classy or even sanitary but sometimes you just need to graciously give reasoning the middle finger and say, “Fuck it, it’s college, I’ll do what I want.”