Volume CXXXIII, Number 14 February 1, 2002 f

The Walk of Shame
KARA OPPENHEIM

Picture this: It is approximately 10:00 a.m. on a weekend morning. Much of the student body is fast asleep, having gone to bed only hours earlier. Some are out jogging or in the gym. Many other students with games that day, or who have a lot of work, or who did not go out the previous night are enjoying brunch.

And then there are those seen wearing the same clothes they wore last night, makeup smeared, hair a mess, darting behind trees and building, taking circuitous paths to avoid being noticed. But they inevitably will be.
Who are these young men and women stumbling on the icy paths and what on earth are they doing? Well, these fine upstanding Polar Bears are participating in a time-honored college ritual: THE WALK OF SHAME.

The Walkers are students who hooked up the night before, slept over and now must make it back to their dorm before anyone who might have seen them that night is awake. Not to be confused by anyone else milling around campus that morning, they are easily identified.

Men have a horrible case of bed-head, half-closed eyes and severe stale-beer-breath. Women are teetering in heels with raccoon-eyes and hair in messy ponytails. They refuse to make eye contact with anyone. If, by some cruel twist of fate, they happen to meet a fellow Walker on the path, they will not look at each other and will never mention the meeting in conversation.

The Walk is particularly unfortunate following evenings with special dress. The morning after last Halloween, Bob had to rush home to avoid being seen in the fishnet stockings, tiny dress, and stuffed bra that he had worn the night before. The costume had seemed like a good idea when he and his friends were all doing it together, confidence boosted by alcohol. But walking home alone and sober the next morning took away some of the fun.

Carrie recalls a long trek last year after the Spring Gala from Brunswick Apartments to the freshman dorms. "There I was, in a full-length strapless dress, freezing cold, walking barefoot down Maine Street with my shoes in hand, because there was no way I could stand for one more second in those heels. And the worst part was, I knew I hadn't hooked up with anyone the night before-I just spent the night at friends' apartment-but I knew that everyone I saw would assume I had!"

The thing about the Walk that makes it so particular, is that generally, when one spends the night at a boyfriend or girlfriend's house, there are clothes and toothbrushes to be borrowed (or even your own that you keep there) and even more importantly, someone who you know will drive you home or to brunch. This is why the Walk is usually reserved for those mornings after random hookups where you feel extraordinarily uncomfortable and feel the need to leave as soon as you wake up.

Some say that the Walk of Shame is just retribution for one's actions the night before. But that's not really fair. It is, in fact, a horrible rite of passage that once experienced will be dreaded for years to come.

There are many ways to avoid the humiliation. One can try, at least on nights where special dress is not required, to wear clothes that will not scream "I am walking home after spending last night in some unknown person's bed!" quite so loudly. There is the option of going directly to the room of a friend who also lives in Moore Hall or Harpswell Apartments to borrow clothing, soap, and a brush. And there are always friends or roommates who may be called in an emergency to pick you up.

But, dear readers, there is a simple way to avoid the walk of shame! The host may offer to drive the guest home! It is the mark of a true gentleman or lady to perform this small but not trivial act of kindness. Everyone who does should be well thanked and rewarded. If all students with a car (or keys to a friend's) who had someone sleep over were so decent as to extend this courtesy, the world truly would be a better place.

And so, the next time you see some poor, unfortunate soul trudging home early in the morning from last night's follies, do not shake your head in disgust.

Rather pity them and, as you silently curse whoever did not offer them a ride home, pick them up in your own car, if you are driving one at the time. At the very least, allow them to retain some semblance of dignity by not pointing and staring. I promise you, the Walk does not need to be any more Shameful than it already is. There is no way to ensure that it won't happen to you one day; when it does, then and only then will you understand.