Hill Slug Dinner In College

21 November 2014

Jack takes the Oxford gown from its hanger on his office door.  From the back he looks like a vampire. From the front he looks ridiculous.  The gown has long sleeves that drape to his knees, but the sleeves are not to be worn. Instead his arms poke out in front of them, leaving them to dangle at his sides.

Guests don't wear gowns, but jeans and sneakers are not permitted.  I've left a change of clothes in Jack's office so that I'll have the proper attire.  When I do my thing, I look every bit as ridiculous as he does.

The starting time is 7:15, but one must arrive early.  We meet in the Smoking Room, where I am introduced to Jack's fellow Fellows.  Besides Jack, I know only one other person from a previous dinner.  I look around, size people up, figure out if I'll be able to hang in.  I am clearly the slowest person in the group.

There are enough of us tonight to be seated in the Hall.  No photos are allowed; this crowd wouldn't want me stopping for pictures anyway.  The ceiling is as high as a cathedral. Portraits of founders and benefactors hang on stone walls above carved wood.  I feel out of place and outclassed, but glad that I have the chance to see something most people don't even know exists.

The Sub-Warden is our leader tonight.  Jack has introduced me to him, and, as we walk towards the long, wooden table set with silver candelabras and white linen napkins, he assigns me the seat next to him. We stand behind our chairs, waiting.  We are delayed because one Fellow's guest is late.

The Sub-Warden recites a prayer everyone has heard many times:  "Obey all rules of the road.  Signal your intentions. Point out hazards."

And we're off.  It's a little bumpy at first, but by the time the soup is finished, each of us is deep in conversation with someone else.  When the main course arrives, there are only two of us who get the vegetarian meal.  I'm used to being an oddball; nobody rides steel anymore, after all.

Plates whisk away and dessert arrives.  Before I know it, dinner is over.  I know this because, mid-conversation, the Sub-Warden stands up.  Everyone else hops up too.  He gives the closing prayer:  "Thanks for coming.  See you next week."  We file out together, some of us towards the Smoking Room, where coffee is offered.  I take a sip of decaf; it's not worth returning to. About half of the group is here, but after only a few minutes, it's just me, Jack, and two others. We stand around and talk about things we didn't know we're all interested in, getting stale and sticky in our oddball attire, until we all agree that it's getting late and we should be getting home.

Jack hangs his gown back on the door.  I peel off my freak attire and look forward to a shower.