With hours of Beer Friz still fresh in our bloodstreams, we boarded the Dinky bound for Goodfriends. The train’s dreary brown interior and harsh lighting sobered us up instantly. We had decided to leave Reunions – a party of thousands with bands, kegs, and dance tents stretching to the horizon - to head to a dingy Chinese-food restaurant located in a dark corner of the Princeton Junction train station parking lot: Goodfriends.
The hostess ushered our group of 20 into the familiar windowless room that looks more like a cellar storage space than a restaurant dining area. For a few minutes, we sat around staring at the Lazy Susans and soy sauce containers. Dead soberness diffused throughout the room. What were we doing here?
Next, the beer arrived. Thank God. We sipped our beers slowly amid long, awkward pauses in the conversation. Back in college, trips to Goodfriends were always highlights of the year, yet this was a disaster. What were we doing wrong?
The door opened and in barged a burly man wearing a ski hat and an orange fifth-year reunion Sur-Five-Or vest with a boombox thrust above his head. It’s Fife, Sur-FIFE-Or! A moment later, with Pour Some Sugar on Me blasting, we all knew that the night had been saved.
