Final Revision

Cheers to Naked K

Flashback to 1992 and Sublime front man Bradley Nowell singing about infamous “40oz to Freedom.” For him that may have meant big-time drugging and serious debauchery, but nearly two decades later, students on Kalamazoo College’s campus are exploring their own liquid courage by shedding more than just their inhibitions: they’re publicly discarding their clothes.

Male and female alike, students are streaking.

It usually happens late, right around midnight, on Friday and Saturday—an hour when the alcohol consumed post-dinner is just starting to stake its claim on students’ normally functional decision-making processes.

They do it for the rush. It’s a right of passage. Maybe it’s a bonding experience. How about a drunken whim?

Nearly every weekend once the weather recovers from months of winter, piles of pants, blouses, t-shirts, dresses, skirts, and sneakers litter the steps of Stetson Chapel as bare bodies can be seen racing, swaying, dipping and sometimes falling, from the top of the quad to the sign post across from Hoben. They might high five before forging back up the hill.

Some students make multiple streaking missions in the span of just minutes, others jump their quickly sobering bodies into clothes as fast as coordination will allow, and still more celebrate their jaunt by continuing to bask about casually in the nude.

At certain landmark events during one’s time at K, nudity, if not excessive drinking, seem all but required in order to fully soak up the experience. LandSea, Frelon, Senior Pig Roast: look carefully, there’s a footnote about the nudity one can expect at each of these transitional times.

For many freshmen, first experiences with public nudity take place on the LandSea orientation program, at which time peer leaders often partake in naked swimming and encourage their charges to do the same.

Though in no way is participating in naked swimming mandatory, there is a certain degree of passive prompting at play. However, for this one remove alcohol from the equation.

LandSea participants have to strip down to nothing without the help of the booze that is so readily available to the underclassmen on K’s campus. In the woods, nudity may actually be about self-acceptance and liberation from unrealistic, media-generated body norms.

“Certain boundaries drop and when you don’t have to worry about what other people think of you, and you don’t have to think about other people judging you about your body, it becomes less of a big deal,” says former LandSea participant and two-time peer leader Katja Samati.

She explains, “There was a cool quality to being alright with naked swimming.”

To recap: Cool meets Drunk, Naked Swimming morphs into Group Streaking.

No event better exemplifies this bizarre equation than that which takes place post-Frelon. On this night, hoards of students, comprised mostly of the production’s overwhelming female production cast, march from the Fine Arts Building to the quad where they drop trow, or leotard, and then proceed to streak.

It’s a tradition, and before 2009 it was one who’s sanctity had remained intact, not to mention its illegality ignored by both the administration and campus security. In Michigan, public nudity constitutes indecent exposure and two misdemeanor charges carry the potential to land carefree streakers in the same registry—the Sexual Offender Registry—as child molesters and rapists.

But back to the story.

The 2009 post-Frelon streaking event, one in which upwards of 200 students are believed to have participated, was turned into a mob scene by a group of freshmen men who had gathered to heckle the streakers. They arrived at the quad with boxes of water balloons and proceeded to hurl the brightly colored bombs at fellow students partaking in the tradition. The majority of their violence was directed at men, who represented the obvious minority.

The harassment progressed until two of the hecklers, Riley Wetzel and Martin Blanc, physically tackled several of the male streakers. Though their motivations for violence remain unclear and unattested to, both students admit to being under the influence of alcohol at the time they committed their assaults.

Neither attacker is of legal age.

The ugly scene ultimately concluded with Dan Hulbert, a senior, bearing a broken elbow as a result of Wetzel and Blanc’s liquid lunacy. Both students have been suspended as a result of their actions and Hulbert’s elbow is nearing full recovery.

In a May 1, 2009 email statement sent from Dean Sarah Westfall to all students, it is stated “…spring quarter is a time when the ‘K’ tradition of streaking comes alive…Because streaking has not historically been problematic at ‘K,’ the campus has not contacted the police for assistance in managing the crowds…”

The dean goes on to very clearly state: “Though the College does not condone illegal behavior, like streaking, your help is essential in ensuring that it does not become a problematic or dangerous tradition if and when it occurs.”

Nowhere in the email, nor in public discourse, was the quad’s resident elephant discussed. Sure, on the Sunday morning that followed the mass streaking, sidewalks throughout campus were sprinkled in theatrical attire and vomit, this didn’t inspire those in positions of power to publicly connect the cluster of three dots labeled Alcohol, Streaking, and Violence.

If annual traditions like the streaking that takes place both post-Frelon and after the Senior Pig Roast are founded on drunken liberation, it’s only commonsensical to question what it is that baring all offers to students.

This year, the pig roast, which also took place on the quad, actually boasted a keg for about thirty minutes before campus security intervened.

When student-coordinated events encourage underage drinking and indecent exposure in direct violation of the laws laid out by greater society, the nature of this institution’s traditions,’ even those that remain off the books, like streaking, implementation is immediately called into question.

As college-age students however, it is not the administration’s responsibility to handhold; no, it remains the duty of the individual to, as cliché as it sounds, drink responsibly or to not drink at all. While public nudity, or streaking, within the K bubble in and of itself may not be harmful, the alcohol consumption that enables it has the potential for causing great harm, as evidenced by the irresponsible actions of a few.

“I think what the administration is saying is that us, as a post-secondary educational institution, are not police and the scope or our practice is to teach and educate,” said clinical psychologist and psychology professor Charles Livingston. “If it’s not in their [the administration’s] mission statement, if it’s not in their scope of practice, then it’s a legal issue.”

And that’s why Americans generally, and K kids specifically, are in danger each time they strip in the name of glorious liberation, or life-altering transition, or, more likely, just blurry-eyed drunkenness.

If the large-scale nudity at last Sunday’s Senior Pig Roast is any indicator, the naked culture at K remains undeterred, even in the face of broken bones and potential prosecution. For the $2.50 a 40oz costs, some might say this breed of liberation is a bargain.

Comments All Around

Colin, let me start by saying that the lead is absolutely awesome. You set the tone in a very genuine way, and major props on brilliantly welcoming the reader to Detroit. Now, in order of appearance, more specific comments: "overhead" is one word. What procession are you referring to? Is it the crowd of strangely dressed stoners making their way to DEMF?

Your description of Hart Plaza lobby, and also of metropolitan Detroit, is really moving; the paragraph that begins "This is true..." is very poetic and somber. It works well juxtaposed to the excitement of the festival. Also, by focusing on how downtrodden Detroit is, and that awesome quote from DJ RJD2, you do a great job negotiating between big picture and small picture.

Okay, seriously what was Afrika Bambaataa talking about?

Thank you for referring to Detroit residents as "townies."

Do you think you could you introduce DJ's names differently? The parentheses are a bit contrived and impersonal.

The "Fuck that building, it's about the music!" quote is so strong; could you put it in earlier, like maybe where you're initially describing how downtrodden the city is?

Also, explicitly name DEMF. You say what it was originally called, but never name it outright. Not everyone is as hep and you and me.

Kill the second to last paragraph; the tone doesn't match.

I loved the whole piece but didn’t feel there was really a conclusion at the end. Could you wrap it up differently?

Maureen, I would never have guessed that Javin is the person you were describing. I had no idea he is so miserable. There are some really strong images and quotes here; the piece is strengthened dramatically by such authoritative sources as Zaide Pixley and Pat Ponto. They definitely ground the issue presented by Javin’s unhappiness.

The paragraph that begins “I don’t fit into any group here..” is particularly touching and endeared Javin to me; the image of him looking in the mirror is golden. Also the line about his neighbors being the “parking lot entrance door and the lounge,” works very well.

At times, I got a little confused about where the article was going. Specifically, the section about African American students at K made me wonder if you were attributing his unhappiness to a greater racial divide on our campus. I would be careful about generalizations.

Also, I assume Javin and Ashlee are friends but I think it would be clearer if you explicitly stated their relationship or connection.

Emily, this piece was such a joy to read. From the title, “Natalie Next Door,” to the charming kicker, I was very much endeared to Natalie, and invested in her story. You tell it well and absolutely do it justice! The introduction is crafted to artfully and I love the image of her carrying “the energy of a larger city.”

I’ve found it difficult to make the “I” character work in my own pieces, but it’s something that you do very, very well. I appreciate your presence here especially because it allows you to provide an emotional guide to the conversation. Your reactions and inner dialogue are stellar.

Oh Schafer, I’m so pleased you chose the cemetery. You absolutely do Bardeen justice. Your snarky tone, dressed in black leather jacket and sunglasses, fits very well here. My only major critique is one that came up a couple times: I think you know the place so well that at times sweet little details get left out. I scribbled masses of questions and suggestions in the margins, but for example when you’re talking about the small puffs of smoke rising, that might be a good place to say more by appealing to other senses (Does it smell skunky? Can you hear lighters and giggling?)

The pacing is very well done throughout the piece, but I don’t think the final paragraph is done justice. I think you could break it up into a couple baby paragraphs, vary sentence lengths significantly, and maybe instead of concluding with the idea that the scenery is fleeting, tack on some sort of super-brief, potentially trite and editorialized comment like, “How tragic.”

Marni, I’m so glad you decided to write about the Nutritional Value system. The delayed explanation in the lede works really well and absolutely pulled me in. Although, not to knock my own brain power, I was slightly distracted…okay, confused…by the shapes, the hexagons and diagonal shelf, in the first sentence—is there a way you could simplify the description?

Also, your cast of characters is so complete! It was a treat getting to meet each new “foodie” (I absolutely love that you worked that phrase in!); there are just enough details to flesh each person out, and I felt invested and excited about what they were saying. Using Carrie Brankiewicz worked really well, too; her presence definitely added an air of authority to the piece.

I think that you’re using the Nutritional Value scheme to look at the ways in which healthy eating and nutrition are already being addressed, and also why they are an issue, but I kind of want the big picture-small picture relationship more clearly defined. Maybe some statistics would help?

Camilo, you did such a good job characterizing Rufus. I think what makes your article so strong is the way you contrast perspectives by showing the differences in Kenyan and American life. It works best when you directly quote Rufus (side note: can you use his last name?). The fourth paragraph is really awesome, especially where you discuss his “elegant outfit”—the way either he gently pokes fun at himself, or the way you editorialize to do it, is amusing and quickly works to make Rufus a likeable character. On that note, I am going to be slightly biased and say that I wish you had said something about how he is absolutely always smiling, or that he greets everyone he sees—those details are important to people who don’t know him.

While I enjoyed reading “The Tribe Man,” at times I did wonder what the ultimate focus was. Is it a profile of his experience in America? Is it about the differences between Kenyan and American life? Is it about how international students experience K? I think they’re all very valid stories, but I do think the article would benefit from having its purpose more clearly defined.

Lindsey, I don't know how effective it is for you to frame the piece by asking about a serious topic while being preoccupied by the game. Also, the quotes Laura gives sound slightly contrived, but then again that could just be a side effect of economic-talk.

In the second paragraph, you name the first thing that can happen when adolescents go off to college, but what is the second? Maybe they should be introduced alongside each other.

Though the information you present is very interesting, it doesn't necessarily seem to fit within a single theme. The article comes off as an explanation of several ANSO experiments, rather than an in-depth look at a single issue, like student's apathy toward world events, or why majors are so divided between genders.

Undressing K's Naked Culture

“We’re trying to redefine nudity here at K in order to desexualize it,” says former LandSea participant and two-time leader Katja Samati K’10. “That’s pretty progressive.”

The two main events boasted by Kalamazoo College’s naked culture, the naked swim on LandSea, and the streaking of the quad after Frelon performances, have become part of K lore.

Many freshman tick the former off their To Do lists just before school starts, as they are met by encouraging LandSea patrol leaders, many of whom are past participants and well acquainted with the tradition.

Naked swimming is exactly what first inured me to K’s naked culture. But to back up a moment, having never before slept outside, much less in the woods of Canada, and having never spoken to any of the eleven strangers with whom I spent eighteen days traversing nature on foot and in canoe, my comfort level was already low and quickly waning.

Throw nudity into the mix and, well, my compass was pointed East, back to New York, back to civilization, back to shame, and black tops and black bottoms, faster than you could say, “How does this breeze make my butt look?”

Needless to say, I got over it. I didn’t have much of a choice.

Though neither nudity nor naked swimming appear in the college-sponsored LandSea pamphlet, they both make waves all over Killarney National Park, the site of the college’s esteemed experiential learning program.

Samati explains the program termed the phrase “naked swimming” for three reasons: first, to replace the loaded phrase “skinny-dipping;” second, to desexualize the act; and third, to be sensitive to the complications, that for many, arise from public nudity.

Nakedness on LandSea is not required, but any past participant can tell you that it is encouraged. Intended to liberate participants and to teach acceptance of bodies and of genders, naked swimming is absolutely not about making nakedness sexual, says Samati.

“On LandSea, part of the draw and appeal of being naked is to take away from the physical,” she says. “Certain boundaries drop, and when you don’t have to worry about what other people think of you, and you don’t have to think about other people judging your body, it becomes less of a big deal.”

Once outside of Killarney Park’s deep blue lakes, and finally back on K’s campus, public nudity finds yet another niche in quad streaking.

For serial streakers like Jared Devitt K’10, it’s about the momentary thrill and the bonding experience shared among the participants.

Thinking back to his first experience, Devitt comments, “I certainly felt closer to those guys afterward. Everyone does; it’s kind of a collective feeling.”

For him, like Samati, there’s nothing sexual about running around in the nude. In fact, Devitt attributes the sexualized messages surrounding streaking to voyeurs who choose to observe rather than to participate.

“What really helps consistently around here is the idea that you can’t really get arrested for it,” he says. “At the same time, it helps that I know a lot these people, and I think they know me.”

Public nudity or indecent exposure, skinny-dipping or naked swimming, call it what you will: a bare body is as simple as it sounds.

Or, I’ve learned, at least it should be.

A mere, unclothed body will remain just that until the police are called, or hecklers assemble, at which point the body is forcibly sexualized by outside observers. Male or female, sober or drunk, its owner is subject to legal action.

But, fortunately for freedom, there are of course exceptions. At the esteemed University of California Berkeley, for example, a public school, stipulations have been carefully devised to allow for a practical clothing optional policy—that is, institutionalized allowance and acceptance of public nudity—within “academic programs or classes,” performing arts productions, in gymnasiums, pools, and more.

Reading between the lines, UC Berkeley has authorized nudity in all of the confined spaces over which it has direct control, leaving the outside the only area under which local law enforcement has jurisdiction.

Berkeley, like Kalamazoo College, however, is careful to begin its liberal statement by declaring any “lewd or sexually offensive conduct, including indecent exposure and public nudity,” disallowed.

That’s because being naked in public can be grounds for sexual offender status, perhaps one of the most socially inhibiting and professionally detrimental titles attainable in the United States.

Currently, the American Civil Liberty’s Union is waging a campaign to “protect nudity as a constitutionally sheltered freedom of expression,” but as is currently the case in Michigan—as is the case in most other states—public nudity, be it in the form of streaking, taking a casual afternoon walk, or urinating behind a dumpster, is deemed a misdemeanor.

And it takes just two charges of indecent exposure to relegate one to the sex offender registry, a database the Michigan legislature devised for “a person who…poses a potential serious menace and danger to the health, safety, morals, and welfare of the people.” In the eyes of the law, there is no differentiation made between nudist and child molester, student streaking after Frelon and pedophile.

And while some may argue there is no need for distinction, many others, including K College students and faculty members, disagree. The heart of their argument? Nudity is not inherently sexual, nor should it be treated as anything more than an expression, or exploration, of self.

In a May 1, 2009 email statement sent from Dean Sarah Westfall to all students, it is stated “…spring quarter is a time when the ‘K’ tradition of streaking comes alive…Because streaking has not historically been problematic at ‘K,’ the campus has not contacted the police for assistance in managing the crowds…”

The dean goes on to very clearly state: “Though the College does not condone illegal behavior, like streaking, your help is essential in ensuring that it does not become a problematic or dangerous tradition if and when it occurs.”

When traditions, like the streaking and naked swimming called for by K’s nudie culture, oppose the laws laid out by greater society, the nature of their implementation is immediately called into question.

“I think what the administration is saying is that us, as a post-secondary educational institution, are not police and the scope or our practice is to teach and educate,” said clinical psychologist and psychology professor Charles Livingston. “If it’s not in their [the administration’s] mission statement, if it’s not in their scope of practice, then it’s a legal issue.”

And that’s why Americans generally, and K kids specifically, are in danger each time they strip in the name of glorious liberation, or life-altering transition, or even just blurry-eyed drunkenness.

Surely if the administration deemed streaking an indecent behavior, it would not be tolerated or encouraged, albeit passively.

Specifically regarding streaking, Professor Livingston says, “It’s not an act of sex, in my opinion. It’s an act of freedom, an act of transition, it’s just drunkenness, but it’s not a sexual act.”

“We need to reference the culture the behavior occurs in, as well as the individual doing the streaking,” he says.

The cultural context for nudity remains contested generationally, geographically, and between political parties, but critically, none of these qualifiers are mutually exclusive, and thus, the issue only grows.

If the large-scale nudity at last Sunday’s Senior Pig Roast is any indicator, the naked culture at K remains undeterred, even in the face of potential prosecution. One might say that’s the price of freedom.

A Critical Look at Jonah Lehrer's "DON'T"

To be completely honest, Jonah Lehrer’s article, “Don’t,” is born into some very cold water. The unsubstantiated anecdotal lede is golden, intriguing, and full of potential until the second paragraph hits and it’s revealed that the subject, Carolyn Weisz, in fact “has no direct memory of the experiment.” Though as the reader I am only marginally committed at this point, I still felt somewhat betrayed by the flimsy foundation on which the opening story is told—I had already bought in to this tale.

Regardless, the dreamy narration is enough to propel me forward; Lehrer goes on to say “she [Carolyn] strongly suspects that she was able to delay gratification,” a statement to which I respond, “hearsay.” It is not until Lehrer makes it clear that Carolyn is not the subject of this article that the shaky details earn the right to stay; they’re not perfect, but they’re there to craft a story, not provide testimony.

The article warms up when it is realized that the narrator is actually telling the story of Walter Mischel’s lifework; further, he is telling it with a commitment to complete transparency. Lehrer sacrifices clean corners for story, striking an endearing balance between hard facts as a base, and anecdotes to fill in the white space. Once beyond the slightly misleading and unfounded lede, Lehrer’s article features expert tone, structure, and a creative voice that elicits vivid imagery with every turn.

The tone in “Don’t” is a combination between that of a scientific research study and a scientist’s personal journey toward and through revelation. Lehrer mimics in his own writing the emotional arc that Mischel and the other scientists undoubtedly endured. He writes, “Mischel argues that intelligence is largely at the mercy of self-control,” and then goes on to quote the scientist: “’What we’re really measuring with the marshmallows isn’t willpower or self-control…We can’t control the world, but we can control how we think about it.’” Not only is this completely stellar quote wrapped in juicy hypothesized wonder, the very sentiment is one that has been widely popular in the last several years (think Freakonomics, Blink, The Tipping Point, and Outliers). Lehrer employs the quote in order to appeal to an audience that is already known to exist.

Additionally, the narrator’s heightened consciousness supplies confidence to the piece, and further, the way Lehrer uses his breadth of knowledge to zoom in and zoom out, relating bigger picture with smaller, creates credibility. With the exception of his aside about not being surprised that the low delayers took longer to return the laptops, the narrator endears himself by remaining comfortably removed from the subject.

Though this is a piece about scientific study, more specifically about what it is that “governs self-control,” Lehrer very carefully avoids weighing “Don’t” down with technical garble. Perhaps the cleverest example in “Don’t,” is that of the “Go/No Go task,” in which the variables are simple and the project is clearly, easily explained. By allowing the reader to share in the experiment, Lehrer forces active reading.

Further, his descriptions are organic and fresh. At no point do they grow stale or bog down the article. Lehrer writes first, “he takes on the body language of an impatient four-year old,” and second, describing Mischel’s discovery of a new learning process, says that he “ found a shortcut.” Particularly in the latter example, the language is unconventional but works to keep the reader participating in and thinking about the subject.

“Don’t,” concludes with a bang; at its last punctuation mark the water is scalding. As one who snacks before dinner, spends her allowance before she sees it, and can’t help but peak under the Christmas tree on the way to the bathroom, I very clearly identify as a low delayer. However, the evenhanded context in which Lehrer provides these highly relatable examples lends itself to identification whether the reader is a high or a low delayer.

Reading “Don’t” is a more involved experience than most television shows or movies can provide; it offers give and take, and truly relates the article’s specific scientific subjects with readers’ universalizable experiences.

MUNCH THiS!

Munch This: A Sober Look at Everyone’s Favorite Convenience Store

The hike to Munchie Mart can be a challenge, be it from a Vampire-themed Valentine’s Day Party on Forbes Street, a Zombie Bride Festival on Davis, or even from as close as one of Kalamazoo College’s dorms.

The walk often requires intense focus, chanting the grocery list, or just a single word—cigarettes, cigarettes, cigarettes—to ensure one’s quest is successful.

“You focus on walking in a straight line, deciding which homeless people to avoid (the answer is all of them), and remembering which light means walk,” says Colin King K’11.

“Drunk people are very focused on their tobacco,” he goes on. In the three minutes Colin, and most other Munchie patrons spend in the store, the mission is easily fulfilled. “You know what you’re going to get when you finally get there,” he says.

But door opened and door closed, that’s just one side of Munchie Mart.

Stepping behind the shop’s tall, forest green counters, Paul, 23, and Will, 26, are vested with the authority and responsibility to dispense two of America’s few legal drugs: cigarettes and alcohol. Both men work two jobs and attend Western Michigan University full time; they’re busy, and on Friday night, five hours into their shifts, they’re peppy.

Sounds from the east side of the state, more specifically Comerica Park, spill through the store’s cobwebbed overhead speakers, and though loud, perhaps unnecessarily so, patrons are rung up and shuffled in and out with great efficiency and order.

Once through Munchie’s Plexiglas door, the one donned in stickers reminding patrons of the legal age and proudly announcing that the store accepts food stamps, a whole new world of sugary sweets, beer, beer, beer, and liquor appears.

Ask any of the many men and women who walk out with a thirty pack of chilled PBR, Red Dog, or Keystone, Munchie’s pièce de résistance is its walk-in fridge.
With its low ceiling and crowded shelves, its heavily postered walls and windows, stepping inside the fridge is an experience. It’s getting out, according to Paul and Will, that proves a challenge for many of Munchie’s already-inebriated customers.

For help out of the fridge, officially dubbed the “Beer Tank” by a Miller Lite banner, the room’s single door sports a user-friendly, eye-level sticker reading: “PUSH.” As if not conspicuous enough, the message is hammered home by a white handprint beneath it, ensuring that non-English speakers and those with blurred vision are not discriminated against, or worse, trapped.

“It’s called the Beer Cave,” Paul scoffs, offering an insider’s perspective. “Miller Lite needs to get it right.”

Whether a fridge, a closet, a tank, or a cave, its door, like those on the ice cooler, is often left open by distracted patrons rushing back to their porch, living room, or dorm.

When two unnaturally orange, spandex-clad women in their early twenties, stumbling and giggly, approach Munchie’s register, they ask for a fifth of bottom shelf booze. Generic College Girl A hands over a shiny plastic ID, and trying to trip her up, Will asks what her zip code is. “49003”—she’s a local and she knows the answer.

Will laughs. “And what state do you live in?” he asks, but before she can answer, his counterpart, Paul, chimes in, “Insanity! I live in a state of insanity!”

And he’s right, but it’s working for them.

Shortly thereafter, just around 10:30, there’s a rush at Munchie Mart. It’s raining outside, and many patrons arrive soaked, but like Colin, they’re on a high-stakes expedition and feeling no pain.

A middle-aged man with intensely unfocused pupils teeters in, leaning forward, his body at a seventy-degree angle with the tiled floor. He’s dressed in a cut-off sleeve tee shirt, wearing a brown vest, and looking utterly removed from reality. Gazing toward a rainbow of beer bottles, he misses the green rugs rolled out for the weather, and he trips, rolls the rug up, and continues on. If he so much as noticed the misstep, he shows no sign of it—but, would you? He buys his booze and leaves.

Another pair of college women arrive and purchase their 6-pack of Coors, but not without Paul first asking if they’re driving; he’s concerned, and with good reason.

The store’s motto, “BIG enough to serve you, SMALL enough to care,” hangs in the background, appearing on indistinct poster board and looking to be the product of an unmotivated elementary school child. Still, its message rings true.

“We’re not driving, but we are drunk,” replies the more rambunctious of the two. With brown paper bag in hand, they give a little cheer on the way out the door: “Beer pong here we come!”

But keeping the shelves stocked and ringing up purchases are only part of the job. After encountering enough drunken patrons who drive to Munchie only to try to buy more alcohol, Paul and Will see their responsibility to look out for the customer as a big part of the job too.

Around 11, a scraggly-haired twenty-two year old, a regular, swings open the door and beelines toward the forties.

“This guy buys for minors,” Paul declares shamelessly. The kid laughs, shakes his head nervously, and continues on his way. “And he knows every time he comes him here I’m going to try to get him to admit it,” Paul goes on.

With no serious response from the accused, Will takes a turn; “He buys about ten forties, and he drops bottles,” he says.

With faux indignation, he kid denies the accusations and approaches the register braced with a single 22-ounce Miller Lite—innocent at least for tonight.

Munchie Mart owner, Tom Berry, has taken an active stance against underage drinking by rewarding his employees with $10 for every fake ID confiscated. The homemade IDs then make their way into Munchie’s box of shame, but often not without tears and protest from former owners.

Just before midnight, an older man comes in, walks to the counter with two forties, and slurs something about a deal he heard on the radio. “You heard it, didn’t ya?,” he asks. But Paul’s heard it all before. No one, especially not this guy, is going to pull the wool over his eyes. The man laughs—he’s been caught. He pays for his malt liquor, and he leaves.

Paul and Will know some of the regulars by name, but Paul says he remembers faces better. Handing over a fifth of Smirnoff, Will warns its new owner to “drink slowly.” He’s seen her at her worst.

If the guys had alter egos, they say they might be Rocky and Bullwinkle (Will’s got dibs on the former), Simon and Garfunkel, or Adolf and Mussolini. Though they do strive to keep the customer satisfied, ruling with an iron fist takes top priority.

Rumor has it there’s a baseball bat behind the counter, but rumor has it wrong. There used to be, according to Will, but “we’d want to use it too much,” he says with a laugh.


With closing time growing nearer, Paul and Will throw on the heavy metal music. Loud. The genre has been statistically proven to get customers out of the store quicker. Sure, every once in a while the plan backfires, but largely, it’s successful.

In between the monotony of fulfilling work responsibilities, the guys like to laugh, control the radio (CCR and The Flaming Lips play second string to the metal), prank call the other Munchie, and to see the clock strike 1:45am—the time they finally get to lock the door, cash out the registers, and ignore lingering sass from old drunks banging on the window and ill-coordinated college students looking for more, more.

For Paul and Will, the Munchie Mart experience is way more than three minutes.

Round Dos

Okay, so I got you last time, but here's my piece for real.

http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2009/05/18/090518fa_fact_lehrer

David Sedaris. The Man.

So, our last talk about David Sedaris has made me all the more eager to share my absolute favorite essay of his. It appeared in the New Yorker last May, but has in no way faded. Hope y'all enjoy.

http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2008/05/05/080505fa_fact_sedaris