Wednesday, April 6, 2016 // The Statement
7B
Why I Love Rick’s
By Michael Schramm,
Special Projects Manager
Close your eyes and envision a
moment in the place you most enjoy. A
space where you feel utterly happy, free
and liberated, where you can unequiv-
ocally be yourself, free from judgment
or insecurity. You catch yourself gaz-
ing wistfully around. Taking in the
moment, you breathe, exhale, belong,
feel alive — like the cosmos and the
stars created this moment just for you.
Nestled in the basement of a dark,
damp college bar, I feel those moments
at Rick’s.
And in those moments my skin is
warm and my heart booms. The feel-
ing’s powerful, yet it’s completely
mine — meaningful, strange and goofy
without being overly sappy.
Those moments are like one on the
Rick’s stage the week before Christ-
mas. Someone hands me a Santa
cap and I put it on, squat down by a
black pole and pose with it, grimac-
ing. They’re screaming the lyrics to
“Anaconda” and hopping onto a stage.
They’re taking pictures of my friends
that turn out so weird my lungs grasp
for air as I scream from laughing.
I love Rick’s, and everyone that
knows me knows it. In some ways, it’s
obvious why I’d love a space that exists
for people to have fun.
Yet my love digs deeper, translucent
and difficult to articulate.
***
Freshman year was incredibly diffi-
cult for me. I struggled to find a group
on campus where I belonged.
It wasn’t always that people were
mean or awful; I met some people
I still consider friends. But as I was
around different crowds of people, I
found myself unable to find a group
that entirely meshed with my person-
ality. It’s hard to explain why or how,
but it was in the subtleties where I felt
I was on a different wavelength than
people around me.
My humor (and entire personal-
ity) is formed on a foundation of utter
irony, stupidity and lightheartedness.
In my personal life, I take almost noth-
ing seriously.
One time I saw a child running
away from his mom on the street. As
the mom chased him down, scream-
ing for him to come back, I muttered
“me” under my breath. I laughed at the
thought of being a small child running
aimlessly and dangerously.
Another time I took screenshots of
Justin Bieber’s album picture where
he holds a sign saying, “What do you
mean?” I started using it as a
meme, texting people it when I disap-
proved of or was confused by some-
thing going on in life. I started seeking
out confusing moments to send the
screenshot. I think it’s so stupid and
funny that I can’t stop.
No one laughed at the weird things
that I did, and so I felt like no one was
connecting with me.
The isolation always came to a head
on Friday nights as I went to parties
with different groups.
I’d head out to frat houses, and we’d
step into the dark basements. I wasn’t
close with anyone at these parties, and
being gay, I was only further separat-
ed. Each night I watched the guys split
up to find girls, while my girl friends
were chatted up by frat guys who
offered them drinks.
I just wanted to be goofy and do
weird things and laugh. But that never
happened.
Drops of sweat would rain down my
face as I’d realize the basement’s heat.
It was caused by the energy of every-
one dancing, moving, talking, hook-
ing up. Everyone seemed to be having
fun, like they were in a rhythm that I
wasn’t. Linked by a mutually under-
stood tick much like the music’s beat.
I moved my body as I circled the
area, trying to join the tick. But as I
kept circling I realized how out of
synch I was compared to everyone
else.
Tick. A group of frat guys in white
shirts and backwards caps laugh
together with beer in their hands.
They’re in the same frat and clearly
don’t wanna talk to me. Tick. A group
of girls asks a guy for his handle of
Crystal Palace. They all laugh as he
hands it to them. He definitely doesn’t
want me interrupting. Tick. Someone
I know puts his hands on his girl-
friend’s hips, as they look at each
other, starstruck. Tick.
After an hour my heart would sink
too low and I’d feel all alone and I’d
race out to escape those parties. I’d
take the bus to my Bursley dorm. I laid
in bed unable to sleep. With opened
eyes, crinkled toes and a broken spirit,
thoughts bounced around my mind,
unwilling to stop.
I wondered why this was happening
to me, why I bumped shoulders with
hundreds of people yet was unable to
tell one I wasn’t OK. That I was lost
and increasingly ashamed of who I
was, undervalued and shoved to the
side.
I left freshman year aching but with
a goal: sophomore year would be bet-
ter.
In the all-sophomore dorm of Stock-
well I found other people who had bad
freshman years and were looking for
people that understood them. Then
I joined The Michigan Daily, where
I found writers who understood my
weird wit. Junior year I joined a gen-
eral honors fraternity, where I found a
group of goofballs interested in joining
a fraternity with no specialization but
looking for a home.
All of these years, friends and mem-
ories were meaningful, but Rick’s is
the culmination of all of them.
Contrary to popular belief, I don’t
believe Rick’s is equivalent to a frat
basement. My friends rarely get hit on,
and I can see almost anyone there.
That’s why Rick’s is special to me:
it acts as a vessel to see people who I
really love in an environment where I
can be myself.
As I squat, hop, groove, yell, pose
and make weird memories with my
friends, I feel liberated. There, I’m
allowed to tick in whatever rhythm I
like, and I’m synchronized with each
beat.
I see a group
of girls I adore and give them the fierc-
est hug. I yell a random inside joke,
and they smile. Tick. My friend sees
her ex-boyfriend and we yell, “What is
the truth!” — my favorite weird phrase
— and laugh. Tick. My friends gather
around to dance to “Anaconda.” Tick.
I close my eyes and belong and feel
invincible as I clench my fists, nod my
head and sway my hips.
Tick.
***
As the school year ends, many of
my friends one year younger are turn-
ing 21 and going to Rick’s for the first
time. They tell me they have to see me
there, and I excitedly tell them I’ll do
anything to be with them on their spe-
cial night.
Your first time at Rick’s can be very
nerveracking. You’ve never been there
before, your friends may not be 21 and
you may have yet to find your tick in
college. That last one scares me the
most — because it’s so easy to feel
alone and tell no one.
That’s why I want to be with my
friends for their first time in Rick’s, so
they have someone they feel comfort-
able with by their side.
And it’s one of the best parts of
Rick’s. I love seeing a new friend in a
space I’m so fond of. As I grab their
hand and tug them to the stage, I just
want to be goofy and make them smile.
As I see them acclimating to the space,
I can sense their tick, like the faint
pulse of a heartbeat. A reaffirmation
that whatever’s going on with them,
this space can give them some sense
of community. It can make them smile,
even if outside those walls life seems
dark.
That’s why I love Rick’s; it’s my
space, and because of that, I want it to
be everyone else’s too.