Everyone has either crashed a party, or at least thought about it. I fell victim to this awkward social practice my freshman year of college. My friends and I (a loud, shiny, lip-glossed herd of oblivious 18 year olds) showed up at a party thinking it was just another everyone’s-invited-keg’s-in-the-corner type affair. Turns out it was a quiet little birthday party for a person who none of us knew. After walking in circles around the house and getting a few too many unfriendly looks, we decided to cut our loses and 88 that shizz. I still maintain that vague text messages can do some damage with misinformation, but I got out unscathed, so it’s all water under the bridge.
Owen and Vince have proved that crashing can be fun and fruitful, (if you know what I mean…) but there are risks. Anytime you combine identity fraud, alcohol, the Macarena, and way too many distant relatives there is the potential for disaster. Two crashers reached for the stars this November when they snuck into a White House state dinner. Tareq and Michaele of the DC area said ‘No’ to Lean Cuisines and Netflix and said ‘Hell, yes’ to sneaking in the East Wing of the White House. While they may not have been faced with trigger-happy Sack or a stage-five clinger, these two should’ve expected some problems with oh, I don’t know…the secret service, the CIA, military personnel, and any other dude with a gun whose job is to protect the life of our nation’s president. But apparently they were very relaxed and having themselves quite the time. The photos are proof that this couple made MOVES on this fete. I mean, these guys were all close and cozy with India’s prime minister and Mr. President himself. Which is a little unnerving, if you think about it.
There are two kinds of parties; ones that you can talk your way into, and ones that you can’t. (This is assuming that you’re never actually invited to the parties. And I’m talking about the figurative ‘you’, not actually YOU, silly. I know you’re always invited you saucy minx.) I’ve unfortunately had a few encounters with the latter variety. I was flat out rejected at the door of one of my school’s more bizarre fraternities by a girl with a foil tower on her head. (This is one of my many solid arguments why girls shouldn’t be allowed to join frats, but that’s a another fish to fry.)
I feel pretty confident that any party at the White House is allowed to be a little exclusive. I’m not offended that Ol’ Obamskis didn’t shoot me an e-vite, I know they need to take precautions. Precautions such as keeping randos out of what should be the most secure building on this continent.
I guess this shows that criminal profiling only works to an extent. Apparently all you need to do to get past the stronghold of national security is be a chubby, middle-aged, average-looking lawyer.
Touché Tareq, Touché.