Nothing was new in Carbondale that fateful night. Cars whizzed by like speeding two-ton bullets, I was working the door with Macauly, also known as wonder boy. We stood there waiting, watching and collecting money as well dressed men in overcoats, hats and gloves filtered in with occasional well-dressed females.

By Gus Bode

We collected the bar’s tribute, occasionally stepping inside for warmth. The cold air bit my face harder than Marv Albert in a hotel room. I looked around and then I saw it, a group of what I am assuming were sophomore girls, a couple of who appeared to have fallen victim to the freshman 15.

What was particularly interesting about them is that they were all very sparsely dressed. Little tight fitting shirts with one shoulder strap- white shirts, of course- tight black pants and open toe shoes. The females were clinging to each other tighter than freshly picked grapes. As they stood in line they shivered and complained about the cold weather. One even started to turn blue.

I made no rush to get them through the door; I simply continued to check IDs as wonder boy collected money. The question that ran through my head was why they would come out dressed in this fashion.

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I am sure that had they been seniors, or juniors for that matter, they would have dressed more seasonably. Maybe the age and grade level had nothing to do with their choice of dress; they could have been out of state students from Alaska and this was nothing more than a summer day for them.

I’m just so curious as to what pattern of thought was going through their head when they decided to go to a beer garden in 30-degree weather dressed in their finest Heidi Fleiss wear.

Okay, enough with the story. This reminds me of freshmen who come to class the first two weeks of school dressed like they are going to the MTV music awards.

Make-up- check. Hair- check. One quart of perfume- check. By the time all of their pre-class rituals are done they’re 10 minutes late. There is no reason to come to an 8 a.m. class trying to look like a supermodel, or any class for that fact.

Me personally, I like the girls who roll out of bed, grab their bag and head to class. At least they have their head on straight.

You are here to learn, not find a husband. Matter of fact, the girls that come to the bars in sweats, I love you. Dress for comfort not for show.

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