After two years of hosting High Fest parties, The Post’s projects editor reflects on the debauchery he’s dealt with.
The current state of filth at my house on High Street following Saturday’s High Fest would leave most asking for apologies. Many of them, at that (looking at you, three strange girls who peed in my shower and said “but it’s the same as water.”)
But that’s not the spirit of Athens’ fest season. After hosting my second and final High Fest with some of my favorite (and bravest) friends, it’s time for me to give thanks to those who made hosting a street fest one of the more entertaining stories I’ll get to tell my grandchildren when I’m rotting away in a nursing home.
“In my time, people really knew how to have fun,” I imagine myself telling them.
First, I have to thank all the strangers who felt they had a right to annihilate the bathroom directly next to my bedroom. That happens at most house parties, but at a street fest it is taken to a different extreme. In addition to the three girls who thought peeing in a shower was as casual as watering a plant, I have to say I was wildly impressed by the two bros who told each other “let’s just pee in the toilet at the same time, this line is really long behind us.”
Next, I’ve got to thank the massive man who plowed through the bushes in front of my house in search of something he had dropped. I’d gone through those prickly pests many times before, but with the caution of a soldier walking through a minefield. That man must have told himself pain wasn’t a real thing, and then braved his way through cuts and gashes a lesser man, such as myself, wouldn’t have dared risk. Pouring one out for you, sir.
Third, I offer a thank you to the undercover agents “blending in” on the sidewalk. During last year’s High Fest, I witnessed a fleet of agents — six, seven, maybe eight standing across the street from my home — swarm and arrest a poor girl who had taken a step off of my lawn onto the sidewalk with an open beer. I felt bad for her, but at least it was quality entertainment.
Fourth, I’d be remiss not to give a thank you to the fine folks of the Athens Police Department and the Ohio University Police Department. You might have shut my party down especially early Saturday, but you’ve put up with me attempting to have serious conversations with you while wearing a tank-top, jorts that rode up way too high (last year) and a Barry Bonds jersey (this year).
No one likes jorts. No one likes Barry Bonds. But y'all treated me with respect I probably didn’t deserve.
Oh, and also a special shout-out to the man or woman who left me a poop dollar in my hallway. I was excited to pick it up, and was not excited when I unfolded it and found that it was covered in a thick coating of feces. You got me.
Lastly, I have to thank my roommates for putting up with all the BS hosting a fest causes. Once this column is published, it’s likely that all the popcorn, pretzel rods, beer, mud and glass that’s coating the entirety of our house is cleaned up. That’s a process that will take hours of hard work and toxic amounts of bleach.
I can speak for everyone when I say we’d all do it again.
You’re welcome.
Allan Smith is a senior studying journalism, projects editor for The Post, and a two-year resident of High Street. Have fun stories or tales from High Fest? Email him at as299810@ohio.edu.
