This article is meant to be for those in college. I submitted this to CollegeHumor, but they didn’t want it. I then got mad at Streeter Seidell for not taking it, and I’ve felt like an idiot ever since. Ian Valentine called this one of the finest articles I’ve ever written. I don’t mean to oversell it. Judge for yourself.

Saturday night is finally upon you. You have waited all weekend for this moment. You have slept late, you’ve played Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas all day with your friends, and you have binged on all sorts of fast food. Hell, you even finished your report due on Monday. The way is clear for a crazy night at the bar with your gang.

“Wait,” you say to yourself. “Do I really want to go out tonight?” You have been going out every Saturday night since the semester began. You need some alone time. Maybe you can download some episodes of Chappelle’s Show. That Rick James episode only premiered two years ago and has been replayed hundreds of thousands of times – it’s still got one more good viewing left in it. You’re also not relishing standing in a crowded bar, trying desperately with your friends to form a tight-knit circle to prevent outsiders from crashing through in their mad dash for the bathroom. No, fuck that shit. You're staying inside tonight. You, my friend, are a Saturday Night Loser.

I have been a Saturday Night Loser many times in college. I just get burnt out sometimes, man. I'm only human. However, no matter how many times I stayed inside, I regretted it each time...and so will you.

9:00 p.m.

Your friends are heading out to do some pre-gaming at the house of some kid who this guy in your friend’s Computer Science class knows. They beg you to reconsider, but you keep telling them the same thing: “I'm just chilling out tonight, man.” After they call you a pussy - which is their way of saying they'll miss you - they make their leave, slamming the door behind them in anger because you're a gaping vagina in their eyes. Whatever - the night is yours. Play some Grand Theft Auto.

10:00 p.m.

You hear more people running down the hall, leaving for a night of drunken mayhem. Fools. You know better. You’re saving money. Then you hear the first thing that raises doubts about your decision - the sweet voices of young women. That’s right, you forgot that there would be hot chicks everywhere tonight. As you hear more females pass by your door, you feel a twang of anxiety in your stomach. “Is it too late to catch up to my friends?” Then reality sets in. Who the fuck will drive you? Where is the house of the kid of that guy in your friend’s Computer Science class? Maybe they’re already at the bar and will be unable to hear you calling their cell phones. It’s too late for you. Watch some porn, jerk off, and get your head straight.

11:00 p.m.

You finish watching the Rick James episode of Chappelle’s Show and don't laugh once. Maybe watching it 34 times was too much, which is strange, because it was funny the 33rd time. What was missing? You know damn well what was missing: your friends. You were watching it with your friends all those other times, shitting yourself with laughter as Charlie Murphy got slapped. Your friends are gone now, but maybe AIM will provide you company. You look at your buddy list. Your screen name is the only one active amidst a sea of gray, lifeless screen names that are accompanied with away messages. It's time to check them all.

“Gone drinking.”
“Out for Amada's birthday! I LUV U AMANDA BEAR! DELTA PHI EPSILON!”
“It's Saturday night. Do the math.”
“Good times with good friends.”

The sinking feeling in your gut increases. No one is online. You put up an ambiguous away message to cover up your shame. Maybe it’s a quote from a song. Maybe it’s a link to a website. Or maybe it just says, “I am currently not at my computer.” Either way, they don’t say that you’re out on the town, so you’re technically not lying to the mysterious person who is checking your away message but is not on your buddy list. You turn on Saturday Night Live. It’s a repeat and a crappy repeat at that.

12:00 a.m.

You decide to head to the vending machines downstairs. As you walk down the halls, you begin to think you're the only person in the entire dormitory. You’re not, though. There are other Saturday Night Losers riding out the lonely times with you. As you head to vending machines, you see them sitting around the nearby tables. The foreign exchange students are all huddled together, studying at one table. Two kids playing some form of Dungeons and Dragons are at another. Already at the vending machines is some kid who’s dressed in total pajama gear, complete with buttoned shirt, pants, and slippers. You thank your lucky stars that he is not your roommate because the kid probably goes to sleep at 8:00 p.m. during the week. Who are these people? You don’t want to know because they all freak you out. You get your snack, head back to your room, and lock the door.

1:00 a.m.

Boredom. You decide against jerking off again. As you stare at your computer screen, you hear a voice inside your head.

“I hope the bar is shitty tonight...”

What? How can you say that? Why would you wish that upon your friends? You know why you said it. You don’t want them having a good time without you. You know about the relief you experience when your friends come back from a night out and you’re informed that you didn’t miss anything special. It’s fantastic and you hope it’ll happen again, but it’s 1:00 in the morning and they’re not back. It must be a good night. Assholes.

2:00 a.m.

You hear shouts from outside your window. The first of the drunks are coming home! You peer out your window as to not be spotted. The drunks are shouting, knocking over garbage cans, and maybe even breaking a few bottles. You’re a little frightened by the chaos and wish you were drunk so that it would all make sense to you. You suddenly get a phone call from one of your friends. When you pick up, you can’t understand a single word the fucker is saying - but he sounds jubilant. There’s music blasting, people talking and shouting, and the feeling in your gut swells even larger. You hang up and decide to throw a chair at the wall.

3:00 a.m.

You decide to lie down and maybe go to sleep. You start to doze off.

4:00 a.m.

You’re awoken by shouts from outside your room. Someone is pounding on your door, like they want to knock it down. It’s your friends. They’re back, they’re drunk, and they’re not tired. You get up, let them in, and they scream in your face.

“YOU FUCKING MISSED IT, MAN!”
“HOLY SHIT, WHAT A NIGHT!”
“I’M FUCKING WASTED! WOO!!!”

They barge into your room like escaped mental patients. As they explain what happened, you feel more and more jealous. They constantly mention a new catchphrase they invented while out at the bars. You can never use that catchphrase now. They were there at its inception. They know the hilarious moment that gave birth to it. Where were you? You were sitting in your dorm jerking off. You can use the catchphrase, sure, but you can never fully appreciate it and your college experience sucks a little more because of it. Your friends want chicken wings and they know a place about 40 minutes away. They drove back drunk and don't want to take that chance again. They all look at you.

You are a Saturday Night Loser.

Questions? Comments? Hope the bar is shitty tonight? E-mail Fishman347@yahoo.com

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