Panera bread is not the answer
David Barrett
Notre Bum
When I got the news that my little brother had been admitted into Notre Dame's auspicious graduating class of 2007, I immediately thought, "Go Irish." He is a decent dude with outstanding analytical skills and thick hair, and we really could use more like him. I thought of the benefits, the symbiosis if you will, that would follow from the two of us sharing this small campus. I thought of the costs.
First, and I do mean foremost, he would be tapped into a life of seductive indulgence and unparalleled coolness. Mine. With connections to the raging off-campus party scene, he'd instantly be the coolest kid in 3B.
Not like I'd mind either. I remember those first few days of freshman year when we'd march single file toward Turtle Creek, following the kid who claimed he had a big brother who lived there. If I could just give him the honor of being "that" kid, my life would be complete.
In return I could hit up his thrilling section karaoke parties. We could jam to some Ashanti and duet on Foolish, then skirt over to Sbarro for a slice, preferably stuffed. Freshman love that crap. I love that crap.
Of course it wouldn't be all grins, we'd have to share a car and what limited sum of women dig on us thick-haired math wizards.
Yes, his first year would be unforgettable. However, when reality hits sophomore year, he'll find himself in the back row of 101 DeBartolo watching the Friday night SUB selection. People will still be searching for the next Boat Club, the next beer, while they lament their late birthday. They'll still be waiting for football season when they can steal sips of Icehouse from a Styrofoam cup.
That's our problem though. We are always waiting. Waiting until 1 a.m. to go out, in expectations of the next buzz kill. Waiting for something to happen. Despite what many might think, that something is not Panera Bread Company. If anything can illuminate the severity of the South Bend condition, it's Panera.
Walking back from class on Thursday, I saw three girls running frantically toward the Joyce Center parking lot. Concluding that they must be running from NDSP, I sprinted to catch up. "Panera!" they screamed. Apparently, they were just hoping to snatch the first tasty morsel of Pumpernickel at Panera before the dinner rush set in. Panera, man. Not Pantera, Panera.
There is no easy answer here. Theme parties are a start, but they alone cannot subvert this Panera madness. We have to get creative with this one. Joe, a quick learner from Alumni, has grown fond of tennis matches at the Pavilion with the incentive of promotional giveaways. Windsor is another option, or beanbag toss.
I don't know. What I do know is that we have 8,000 individuals at this university, all with different tastes, hobbies and concepts of fun. Sadly, we all end up doing the same thing. We settle for overcrowded bars and under-supplied house parties. We show up at the architecture party though we can't draw. We go to the boxing house though we can't box. We get in the cab and ask the cab driver, "What's hot tonight baby? Take us there." Then we complain that there's nothing to do.
I used to blame it on the Notre Dame breed. Legacies like myself show up thinking it's going to be like it was in '75, like Dad would always talk about. We think of college as four football seasons connected by a negligible spring. Once we get here we realize those springs are far from negligible, but in fact are sobering and long. We realize that if we don't get up and do something, they'll seem even longer. That's why us legacies are so stinking crazy.
So we go to the spots Dad used to talk about, the ones that are still standing and haven't lost their permit, and we get our laughs. We soon understand that this is still the same place we heard about in all those stories, minus a couple of bars and plus a couple of rules.
It's easy to wander through here and think that we missed out, that we came a few decades too late. It's easy to forget why we came here. I didn't come for the business program or the diversity. I came for the tradition, the football, the beer and because it was the best school I got into.
I came. So did all of you, and so will my brother. He can wait until he hears from Georgetown, but he heard the same stories I did and will be here next fall.
So go to Windsor if you need to and enjoy the casinos. Mix things up and go drinking on Tuesday instead of Friday. Just don't complain that there's nothing to do in South Bend. I hate that.
Pantera man.
David Barrett is a junior economics and philosophy major. His column appears every other Monday. Contact him at barrett.43@nd.edu.
The views expressed in this column are those of the author and not necessarily those of The Observer.
All Viewpoint Stories for Monday, February 3, 2003
