We went to a kegger on Saturday, it was interesting.
Our taxi pulled up to a house (about seven or eight and we yelled to the cabbie ‘Yo homes, smell ya later’). We were in a nice neighborhood with pretty houses all lined in a neat cul-de-sac. The house was modern and from the outside it appeared to be a classy place. The inside was a different story. The last time I was at a party where all conversation revolved around getting hammered was when I was sixteen and still in high school. This was a twenty-four-year-old’s birthday party.
At first it seemed good. People were cooking food on the BBQ, others were chilling with beers and playing with the adorable baby dog. Then I saw the beer pong table, the keg and huge pint glasses. The further into the house I ventured the more wasted the people were. One couple were completely out-of-it and stumbled around making awkward comments and acting like drunk teenagers. Nobody was looking after them, nobody was offering them water or food or asking them to settle down. Their lack of control was instead celebrated and people were encouraged to get themselves into the same state.
One man in particular brought down the entire atmosphere of the party. He was negative, racist, homophobic and unbelievably rude to everyone in his eye sight. He even went so far as to make a biphobic joke about me (without knowing my orientation) and I was very hurt. Eventually I called him out. My fierce self-integrity burned to the surface and I could not stand the way he was talking to my friends. “Why are you being a dick to everyone?” He denied being malicious but I persisted “You are being a dick! Since the moment we arrived you have personally insulted every one of us.” He quietened down for a while but it was clear his insecurities would not allow him to remain pleasant for long. But the worst part of our night was yet to come.
I am in two minds about sharing this information but Scottawa is an honest depiction of my Canadian experiences and to leave something out, for what ever reason, would be inauthentic. So here is what happened. The garage was buzzing with people playing beer pong, downing drinks and talking obnoxiously. Partiers were going in and out of the house and I stood by the garage door choosing songs to play on the iPod speakers. Out of nowhere came the loudest squeal, and not a girly you’re-tickling-me-too-hard squeal, I mean a high-pitched cry for help. Everyone stopped to see who was hurt. But I already knew, I had witnessed the whole thing.
My insides dropped and I became gripped with grief. Someone had dropped the heavy door on the eight-month-old puppy’s tail. The most heartbreaking part? Nobody gave a damn. Not one person tried to comfort the dog or confront the culprit. The dog’s owner merely stated that he’s fine and continued to demolish his two pints of lager. Some people even tried to make light of the situation and jokingly pointed fingers at each other “was it your fault?”
We left soon after. With our hearts in our throats and a significant loss of faith in humanity. Obviously I understand that this experience is not representative of any nationality or age group but I found the evening very surprising and saddening. All I can conclude from our night is that we should be grateful for the good people in our lives, not everyone is compassionate, friendly or even half decent.