Admittedly, it has been a while since I’ve gone trick or treating. I stopped around middle school, growing out of it and instead preferring to hand out candy to trick-or-treaters. But this year, something felt different. There was something in the air. Spring? Love? Weed? Maybe all three. But something felt different, and so trick-or-treating I went.
The first thing I had to figure out was the costume. The possibilities were endless. Do I embrace the spirit of Mean Girls and dress sexy? Pull up in fishnets and heels with some bunny ears? Do I try to be ironic? Fishnets and heels over a bunny onesie? What about a pop culture reference? The new season of Loki just came out (<3), but with all of the jumping through time, how are people supposed to know that I’m dressed as a character pretending to be from the 1970s instead of just someone from the 70s?? Or worse: what if no one recognizes which Eras-Tour Era I am.
I ended up pulling inspiration from the one and only Barbie movie. With newly bleached-blonde hair, neon lycra galore, and rollerblades strapped onto my feet (I literally go nowhere without them!) I set off into town.
I had a plan. Start on campus and hit up all of the dorms (except CCRH—candy isn’t healthy, so it’s not allowed in the building. Those poor souls.) and then work my way into Burlington proper. Make a pass through the student-heavy sections of town—Loomis, Ishmael, North and South Willard, etc.— then skate through Church Street for the Insta photo op before trying to rollerblade up College Street and back to campus, where I stashed some crocs to save my (by that point) tired feet.
It was a solid plan. A great plan! If only it worked. I made it through campus no problem. Sure, I was thrown out of some dorms because “you’re not allowed to rollerblade up the stairs—wait, how did you even get in here??” but otherwise, it went smoothly. And in the beginning, I did fine downtown! Got around pretty quickly, performed some tricks, and earned treats.
I knocked on the door. It opened. Only it wasn’t a fellow student who answered. It was my professors. All of them. Every professor I have ever had during my time thus far at the University of Vermont and State Agricultural College gathered in one place. I didn’t even realize they all knew each other. Sure, the ones in the same department would, but the professors I had only to meet distribution requirements? What were they doing there??
A record screeches in the background as the needle is dragged across the LP of spooky music that one of them pressed into vinyl just for Halloween. I stood there, frozen, silence ringing in the background as they gathered around the door to take a peek at the student who had the Fucking Audacity to interrupt their party.
“I didn’t mean to! Please! I thought this was just another student’s house!!” I cry. But it was too late. They had already seen me. They had seen the neon lycra. The bleached-blonde hair. The pillowcase full of candy. The rollerblades, at least, weren’t a new sight (as I literally go nowhere without them!).
I am fortunate that they merely slammed the door in my face in disgust. But it will never undo the rollerblade of shame I took away from the house. Embarrassment will sit permanently on my face for the rest of the semester until I, obviously, transfer so I never have to confront this again.
I hope your Halloween went better than mine.