Freshmen, I bet right now the regret of coming to Binghamton is setting in. You are feeling pretty homesick, and after being forced to trek across campus in the endless rain, you are thinking, “Why in God’s name didn’t I choose Miami?”

Welcome to college. I’m sorry to say, but you can no longer brag to your friends that you managed to pound four Smirnoff Ices and are WAAAASTED! You’re in the big leagues now, so let this seasoned veteran take you out for a night on the town.

First, let’s head to the Old Union for Late Night Binghamton. We immediately notice that everyone around us is sober and probably spends their time playing Dungeons and Dragons and writing computer code. No matter how cool video games, pool and free movies may sound, this is not the place for us.

We head back to our dorm and start getting ready to go downtown. Why don’t we relax for a while and crack open the 30-pack of Keystone Light that we picked up from Wal-Mart?

What? You want to go to State Street now? It’s only nine o’clock! Here’s a news flash: you don’t have a curfew. You can head out whenever you want. Relax.

It’s 10:30. We call four taxi companies to pick us up and after an hour Luke-man rolls up with six kids already in the cab. Be prepared to make new friends, because it’s only polite to talk to the random stranger upon whose lap you are sitting.

Already wasted, we stumble over to the illustrious Rathskeller Pub with our terrible fake IDs in tow. My 5-foot-7 blonde older sister may not be fooling anyone, but the bouncer lets me in. Sadly, he’s seen worse. We immediately order a Scorpion Bowl and halfway through, a drinking companion turns around and hurls all over that cute boy from bio class.

We walk over to the Sports Bar, making sure to take the back entrance (since the front one scans IDs). Once inside, we run to the dance floor because, oh my God, our favorite song is on! We finally give up battling to get across a doorway wide enough for two anorexic sorority girls and head over to Rocky’s, completely famished, for some pizza.

We each pound back two slices with a speed that would put world hot-dog eating champ Takeru Kobayashi to shame. The pizza may taste like cardboard, but in our drunken stupor it might as well be filet mignon.

Ready to head home, we hop into a cab and start loudly recounting our night. The cab starts to swerve across the road and the driver looks like he is asleep. Wait, was this Joseph’s Taxi that we hopped into? As we go careening off the road I can’t help but think, “If I knew I was going to die tonight I would have at least eaten a Pepe’s Sub instead of Rocky’s pizza.”

Welcome to Binghamton. You may hate it right now, but by your fourth year you’ll never want to leave.