Being in a sorority in my day, I was able to play tagalong to lots of different fraternal events. One of a couple that will be ingrained in my mind forever was the night of the FOAM party. Yes, it’s real. A barn, in the middle of the winter, filled about 9-13 feet high with pure suds, college kids in bathing suits, and a DJ (literally) above it all. The first year I went I was wide-eyed; the second year, I was regretting not bringing a waterproof camera.
From my vantage point in the suds, where I am shaking my tail feathers just to keep warm with some girl friends, I notice an interesting couple that has meandered on stage with the DJ. There were a handful of other people who had solicited attention this way throughout the night, but they were the ‘chug a beer and give a whoop’ kind. These two were clearly, clearly not aware of their central presence. They were swaying slowly–staring at each other. I started to quickly warm up in the cold. He began to kiss down her neck. No freaking way, right? I mean…all this foam and they find their way to the top. He turned her around. For these purposes, we will call this direction ‘towards the audience.’ He was behind her and he tried to slip a serious move that resulted in a bikini bottom entanglement. I seem to be the only one watching, so I garner a crowd, and finally a true frat brother pulls them offstage.
Two weeks later I’m at a halloween party and there is a girl there who looks vaguely familiar. I choke back whatever restraint I had in me as I shook the girls hand who I had seen engaging in crude acts onstage at FOAM. My FOAM days are over; it took weeks of lotion to repair my soap-burned skin.