The more alcohol the better, say undercover Campus Security officers. All names have been changed to protect the identities and location of the participants.
Slowly, we wind our way down the tucked-away stairs in a crevice of Kniz Hall. Leading me, I have Sam, a Campus Security Officer, First-Class. His pomaded hair skims the ceiling of the low, dark room we are currently preparing in.
“Here, wear this,” he says as he hands me a black tie.
Wrapping the tie around my neck, I ask, “Why do I need this?”
“You’ll see.”
To the average student, this place seems an inconspicuous spot on campus, a location where only the physical plant employees wander every once in a blue moon to check some gauge.
After we left the dark room, Officer Sam approached a small door with a peep-hole in it. He knocked rhythmically, so habitually and swiftly that I could never have replicated the act.
What met my eyes was hard to believe.
Booze, gambling and many unmentionable nefarious acts flashed before my eyes like a montage of “Wolf of Wall Street” and “The Great Gatsby.” Sam grabbed me by the sleeve and dragged me to the counter and then whispered in my ear, “Don’t act like such a greenhorn, or we’ll both get the boot.”
He knocked on the bar and shouted over the cacophony of the establishment, “Two house vodka specials; light on the special, heavy on the vodka!”
To my astonishment, the parking lady turned around and handed me my drink with a smile. “Welcome, I hope you find everything to your satisfaction.”
I almost berated her for forcing me to take a razor blade to my window to get off the stupid orange sticker she vandalized it with, but I held my tongue for cool, silent journalism’s sake.
This is the Campus Officer Hurricane Club, known colloquially as the C.O.-Cane Club. Run by this university’s finest, the speakeasy helps pad their budget and, they believe, does a great service to students.
One officer, who will stay unnamed, explained, “We just think that students should be free to drink anything on school property without the threat of some absurd fine. They already pay the university tuition; why shouldn’t we attend to one of the most necessary faculties of the college education?”
One must pull their strings to get into this exclusive club, but once you are in, there is no turning back.
“Yeah, screw parties! Dude, I come here every night of the week. They have this incredible house-made stuff; gets you ripped,” said a male student dressed in a tweed jacket and corduroy pants.
One student, with a bob-cut and sparkling dress, who was shooting dice with a member of the administration, told me, “Coming to this place … it’s an oasis in this desert; not that campus is dry … it just needs more alcohol!”
It is very common to go by a pseudonym in this establishment. One student who called themselves Magnum Hawkfire explained that “age doesn’t matter in this place,” adding, “It’s about the students. This place just cares about the students. No other university has such a community; I am so glad I chose TU!”
It all felt so natural as people sipped their liquors and conversed about amphetamines, sports gambling and their past physics exams. If there is ever an opportunity to visit this secret society, take the opportunity. Maybe you’ll find that security officers are not that bad after all.
