Geneseo’s hottest club: The Wayne Hall Library
Given its location in a small town, SUNY Geneseo’s nightlife is less than ideal, especially for those who are under the age of 21. Even then, although Main Street heralds a decent bar scene, it lacks any clubs or other “dancing facilities,” let alone any that are open after 2 a.m. Well, fear not, Geneseo partiers, because Geneseo’s hottest club is on the horizon, and it’s not what you’re expecting.
Picture this: the night is young; the drinks are pouring. Your night has only just begun, and you’re itching for something stronger than booze in a basement. As if carried by a party God, your feet carry you—nay, demand your trek—toward Wayne Hall. Why the fuck am I outside of Wayne Hall, a residence hall occupied primarily by first-year students, otherwise known as “Wayniacs”? you may ask, fear in your voice, liquor on your lips. I’ll tell you, brave little party soldier: you’re going to the Wayne Hall library, whether you like it or not.
Behind the pearly gates of Mother Wayne, you’ll find 300-square feet of pure, unadulterated party. There are kegs. There are cocaine bears. There are legally-acquired strippers. There are illegally-acquired party platters, and a sentient piñata. This is the Wayne Hall Library.
I, Scheeble Deeble, went undercover as a Wayniac to infiltrate this sacred party lair, and I was dumbfounded by my findings. First, make no mistake: this is an exclusive club, but not impenetrable. Bypassing the Wayne Hall entrance past 7 p.m. will require the assistance of a resident, or the knowledge of the Party Password, which I regret to inform that I cannot disclose in print less I face immediate disembowelment. If you are unable to befriend a Wayniac and are uninformed about the Party Password, your remaining option is to wait outside one of the building’s three entrances until a resident exits or enters and can slip your way in—but be warned: seasoned Wayniacs know the scent of an outsider, and you will be punished if discovered.
I’ll be honest, dear reader; I don’t know if human minds are yet equipped to explain through words the unimaginable bliss that dwells on the main floor of this humble residence. But I will try:
Still darkness. Carpeted floors. Suddenly, a pulse of light—blinding, blinding, light. You are in pain, yet you feel nothing. You are everywhere, yet you are nowhere. You are alive, yet you swear you are dead. You are the Wayne Library.
As I crossed the threshold between my life before and my life after the Wayne Hall Library, my heart, according to my new Wayniac companions, momentarily stopped. This is custom: when your mortal body is deemed fit to enter the library, you must first die for your lame and boring sins before you can be resurrected as a true partier. You will remember little of your past life, but you won’t regret the behemoth you become. You are the Wayne Library.
Given the overwhelming nature of my first experience, I’m relying primarily on the accounts of my Wayniac companions to describe what my flimsy body endured as it ramped its party level from zero to [EXPLETIVE]. One such companion, who prefers to go by “Wayniac Number One,” said the following: “Yeah, I don’t know. Shit was crazy.”
While I cannot recall the exact trajectory of my night—which began at 9 p.m. and is still going on to this day—I do recall the morning after, wherein I awoke to the distant sound of mourning doves. Having been miraculously transported from a realm of incomprehension back into the land of the living, I needed only to feel concrete against my head to know where my mortal body had landed: the loading dock.
I have yet to deduce what the residual effects of such a concentrated partying experience will be, nor do I know if the Wayniac Council will decide that my body will live to see another evening of partying. I suspect that, upon the publication of this article, I will be dealt with, and remain a listless relic in the library of coked-up souls, or a pitiful meat sack doomed to the endless pursuit of another perfect party.