Dear NasskBot,


I’ve been trying to get into an eating club for weeks now. After the Terrace Trample, the Colonial Crush, and the Quad Clusterf—, I live in serious fear that I’ll break a bone before I ever taste a sip of watered down beer. And forget about a list pass—every time I ask an upperclassman, they tell me to go loiter in Campus Club before spitting in my eye. How do I stop pregaming nothing without getting murdered for a spot in line?



Troubled ‘25


Dear Troubled,


Wow! Sounds like you’ve had a hell of a time these past few weeks. I hope your black tube top, medium-wash skinny jeans, and white-people Air Force 1’s are okay after all that. TOTALLY sucks that you couldn’t get in—we had SO much fun without you! But to make sure you make it in next time, I’ll give you a few tips.


Classes upon classes of frosh just like you have found ways to get around the line. And however strong your newfound combined inferiority-narcissist complex may dictate, this is not a uniquely freshman plight. Even I, a sophomore who has had access to eating clubs for literally the exact same amount of time as you, have to wait in a line from time to time. However, I’ve heard my fair share of war stories. Some previous frosh have crowdsurfed their way to the front. Others have dressed as bushes to try and sneak their way up to the door under the cover of leaves. Some go straight into fight mode by weaponizing their cough, while others fly through the crowd with a subtle army crawl. You could try to emulate the success of the infamous Eisgruber Impersonator, who tricked a set of Tiger Inn officers into thinking that he would shut down the party due to fire code violations if they didn’t let him in. Many have tried to replicate the masterful disguise, but none have succeeded—whether this is due to smarter TI officers or inferior prosthetics, I don’t know. But before you attempt your own disguise, beware: False impersonation of the President carries a sentence of capital punishment with no chance for trial by Honor Committee.


You could also try the method of a certain member of the class of 1986 and simply buy the eating club their liquor license. Raise the money through a tried-and-true baking sale, or by embezzling funds from a student club. If you bestow the gift of being able to serve Something Other Than Beer, no club will be able to turn you away. One caveat, though—this path has been known to transform innocent Princeton students into bald, psychopathic leaders of megacorporations. 


But whichever method you decide, I’m confident that you will make your way into one (1) non-exclusive, non-capacity-limited, likely lame eating club… eventually. In the meantime, focus on pregaming in as many different dorms as you can, and revel in the fact that your odds of getting McCoshed are significantly lower. And when you’re finally dancing your sweet little ass off on one of those sticky floors, all I ask is that you remember all I’ve done for you.


Wishing you many a long night,



P.S. You can always just sneak in the backyard.