How to sneak into Silver Ball (by someone who’s just done it)
Two words: open bar
This past Saturday, NYU’s Silver School of Social Work held its annual Silver Ball in the Rosenthal Hall on the top floor of Kimmel. It was a night of dancing, music, and drinks for several hundred graduate students, and two plucky CAS freshman.
It was around 9:30 pm and I had just attended APC Rhythm’s a cappella show (featuring my amazing friend Lexi). Going into the bathroom I encountered a swarm of girls, reapplying lipstick and smoothing their updos, readjusting Spanx-induced wedgies and tightening bra straps. Although the prom-like attire was slightly nauseating, I decide to investigate. I headed up to the 10th floor and found the entrance to the Silver Ball, as well as a coat check and sign in table. The party looked awesome, but I knew that my denim jeans and Brooks Vanguards would be flashing red lights if I attempted to casually walk in.
I rushed home to change, calling my friend Daniel and telling him to find a suit and meet me in twenty minutes. I hurriedly Googled the event while slipping on heels, learning that entrance required a $25 ticket and matching receipt. I bit my lip but then shrugged, the party had started over two hours ago and it was unlikely anyone would still be checking.
Daniel (sporting a tie and Yeezys) and I walked excitedly through the park towards Kimmel, rehearsing soundbites about our degrees on the societal constructs of the Hungarian quarry system. We exited the elevator and, talking to each other continuously, approached the Silver Ball entrance. As we were passing the streamer-strewn doorway, a girl stopped us, “Can I see your wristbands?”
I glanced down at her wrists, encircled by a dark violet bracelet.
“Oh, dang, um well we had to go out to meet our friend and I took mine off, I didn’t realize we still needed them, I’m so sorry.”
She smiled at me, “That’s okay, just have them check your name,” gesturing me to the sign-in desk. Heart sinking slightly and mind thinking furiously fast, I walked over and beamed at the girl with the list, “Hi, I’m so sorry, I took off my-”
I groaned inwardly, do I tell her my real name or…. “Casado, Laura.”
She flipped through the check-marked paper and frowned dubiously, “Hmm, I don’t see you here. Do you have the receipt on your phone, maybe?”
“No, I’m so sorry, I don’t. That’s so odd though, it should be there,” I bit my lip apologetically and said a prayer in my head for forgiveness. I turned to Daniel, “Oh no, did you take yours off too?!”
He glared at me.
Somehow, after thoroughly glancing over our outfits and my fancy clutch bag (thanks, Aunt Suzy), the lady believed us, wrote down our names (which I obviously spelled Casetto), gave us wristbands, and we gleefully entered the party, ecstatic at our success.
The room had beautiful floor to ceiling windows, and was darkly lit. There were photo booths, bar tables, a step and repeat banner, a dance floor, DJ booth, long banquet table in the corner sadly devoid of food and, to Daniel’s delight, an open bar.
As the night drew to a close and we headed out, a girl approached me and drunkenly proclaimed, “You look JUST like my friend Kayla.” I said thank you, but then realized she actually needed me to be Kayla, because for the next fifteen minutes this woman ranted to us about one) her husband attending Silver and getting all these internships while she was home with her two kids (Ava, age three, and Ryan, age seven) and two) her recent, traumatic encounter with a Hillary Clinton supporter, “You guys understand, I’m just a Bernie person, I’m feeling the BERN!”
She began asking questions about us, at which point Daniel mentioned that he was unemployed and only 18. I cringed, but surprisingly the lady gave him a huge hug, gushing about how proud his parents must be. Nodding vigorously, I glanced at my phone and saw that gosh, darn we had to run because we were meeting a friend. And so, we ventured out into the starlit park, returning to the booze-free world of undergrads.
Until next year, Silver Ball.