Drunk Sober High: Halloween on Franklin Street

In a college town, students are known to experience local events in various states of inebriation. Inspired by a series started at New York University’s blog NYULocal, we asked our staffers to write about their experiences drunk, high and sober. To protect their reputations, we kept their identities anonymous.

Drunk

I started the night pregaming — heavily. Franklin Street isn’t cheap, but the memories are priceless. Despite pregaming literally a street over from Franklin, we still didn’t make it in time to walk around. Luckily, the fun part of Halloween — the bars — were still open because it was only 10 p.m. Throughout the course of the night, I made some new friends, some new enemies and I lost my debit card and my ID.

Sober

My roommate and I started off the night a little early and went to Sup Dogs. When we were done, the ~festivities~ hadn’t started yet, so we just awkwardly stood on the sidewalk and waited for Franklin Street to actually get closed off.

When people started showing up, I did a little bit of people-watching from the sidewalk before walking around. The most popular costumes of this year were slutty zombie, Bob Ross, Ken Bone and three-hole-punch Jim from “The Office.” I only saw a couple of people in racist costumes, so I guess it could have been worse on the cultural appropriation front.

At around 8:30 p.m., two robots showed up. A giant crowd formed around them, but honestly the majority of people looked like they wandered over because they saw a crowd forming.

I left at 9 p.m. because I wasn’t really feeling walking up and down Franklin Street anymore, and I’m not well-connected enough to get that sought-after frat party wristband.

I honestly don’t know what I expected for Halloween on Franklin to be, but honestly, I was pretty underwhelmed. It probably would have been better drunk. Sober, it’s a solid 2/10.

High

By the time I had beat my face, put on my wig and gotten high enough to go to Franklin, I was already late. Honestly, truly, who even is looking cute and ready to go off to Franklin by 8 p.m.? Luckily, I hurried up and was able to get out of my house at a reasonably Caucasian hour. I walk through campus to Franklin and already regret choosing a costume with heels. My head is in the clouds as I sing along to a Rihanna song that my friend is blasting through her iPhone.

Once my friend and I get to Franklin, we are almost immediately stopped by a man in a suit telling us he is dutifully sorry for his actions. We step back and notice he is wearing a sign around his neck saying “a formal apology.” It takes a couple minutes for me to understand the joke, but when I realize the pun, I feel like Einstein.

So many creative costumes pass by me: troll dolls, the Gumby toy from the viral dog video, a big group of people dressed up as Noah’s Ark, Harambe and “Fifty Shades of Grey”.

We head further down the street and see a guy wearing two rather large, white low-hanging spheres around his knees. They’re white balls. As a woman of color, I don’t see those all too often.

I walk past a man dressed as a rat, pretending to emerge out of the gutter. Another man, who wears a chef hat and speaks in a French accent, explains that the chef (the rat) has arrived and that he will be cooking Ratatouille. I feel extremely blessed to be seeing a live-action role play of maybe most iconic Pixar film ever, “Ratatouille.”

Inside of a store, I see a girl whose highlight is poppin’ and whose eyebrows are on fleek. Oh wait — that’s my reflection. Yass I look so good tonight.

By this point, my feet are sore from my heels, and I walk over to the bank to sit down and take a break from streetwalking. And no, not like that. A hot white boy offers to pray for me and my friend. I ask him to pray that we have a turnt evening. He prays for us.

Then, the munchies kick in. Visions of sugarplums — no — visions of tacos and chips and pizza — dance in my head. I take off my heels, well aware I’m looking ratchet as hell, and walk over to the stadium with bare feet. I’m heading there to take part in my favorite UNC Halloween tradition — the Food Truck Rodeo. I wait in line for what seems like hours before I get hold of my precious taco. I cradle it like a newborn child but then ravish it. I am Cannibal Mom, who, in my head, is Chewbacca Mom’s newest replacement.

At this point, Franklin has been shut down, but the rest of my evening is just beginning.

swerve@dailytarheel.com