I'll Never Do That Again, Part II

Ah, Beach Week.  I don't have a lot of regrets, but of the few I have, probably 99% of them took place at North Myrtle Beach.

Every year during the week between final exams and commencement, you can find what feels like all of UVA at the same beach in South Carolina.  Coincidentally, the annual Bike Week shares the same time and location, making for an interesting mix of preppy college kids and leather-clad middle-aged men.

What is most bizarre about Beach Week, though, is a place called the Spanish Galleon (or Spee Gee, as we like to call it).  There's a strange magical force about it that draws in UVA students like moths to a light bulb.  Then there's an additional magical force that causes those same UVA students to clamber like monkeys into various cages strategically placed throughout the dance floor.

Yes, that place is ridiculous.  Yes, we always ended up there no matter what our initial plans were for the night.  Yes, I was in a cage within 15 minutes of walking in the door every single time.

This is the least incriminating photo I could find of myself in a cage.  Faces have been blurred to protect the not-so-innocent.  Whatever, we were just having ourselves a good time.  Even so, I feel pretty comfortable saying:

2. I'll never dance in a cage in the middle of a club again.