Samantha Emily Evans, the
On January 30th, the night of RAG week launch with Chuck Inglish, St. Michael, and Big Narstie headlining, I exploded. I have lived in St. Andrews for four years, and while I knew that egotistical students who didn’t appreciate their privilege lived here, too; I had never experienced myself the wrath of their self-righteousness.
At the concert, the excitement was palpable. The performers were excellent and engaging. They stared into cameras, they shook hands with audience members, and they gave us a good fucking time. And yet, one self-centered student decided to chuck a bottle at St. Michael. The music stopped. This was the first time I exploded. I couldn’t believe that I went to a school where a person could be so disrespectful, so unappreciative of hard work. I tried to remind myself that not everyone in St. Andrews is like this; it is just a few students, but I couldn’t help it. I hated everyone. For the rest of the night I closed my eyes and pretended I was far away from St. Andrews, not surrounded by a bunch of people who were so consumed by their egos they couldn’t even see me. It was hard to maintain; I kept getting walked into.
Sadly, the lights switched on and it was impossible to keep pretending. I was hosting the official after party, so my friend Ian and I ran over to set the music up. We played a disco track, setting a fun vibe for the night. As more friends, strangers, and people I’d met once filled the living room, two young men decided they wanted to play their music. They sat on the speaker, and tried to grab my friend’s phone. Obviously, we said no. Ian was DJing and the party was just getting started. Plus, we were liable if the transfer went wrong. They were outraged.
“Do you know who I am? If you don’t play my song, I’m going to make sure you don’t go to May Ball.”
May Ball, oh no! This really was a powerful man that we should never have said no to. Finally, they left to go pee in the garden. We continued playing disco.
Just as we thought everything was going smoothly, a tall gentleman jetted into our DJ area, grabbing the extension cord and stepping on a bunch of cords. I asked him what he was doing; he wanted to charge his iPhone. I suggested he use another plug somewhere else, and he became furious.
“I know you are trying to break a lot of stereotypes about women, but right now you are confirming all of them.” Excuse me? He continued to shout at me, bringing up Donald Trump before…
“Do you think you’re better than me?”
“No. Do you think you’re better than me? Clearly you do, so please stop screaming in my face.”
Thankfully the cops came, and he left. I was in shock. In all my four years at St. Andrews, I had never been talked to like this. We decided the night was still young and to try another after-party. It was pretty cool, Chuck Inglish and St Michael were there; however, it was ironic to see these privileged students engaging with these rappers from Detroit and Inglewood who had worked so hard to become successful. At one point, I heard a young man chanting, “I give you money. Feed yourself. Feed your family!” like he was some lord. This was sadly confirmed when a fight broke out, and the refined individual who lived there screamed, “Get out of my house, peasant!”
A line has been crossed. The feudal system is over. We are not your peasants. We are all humans and we should all be treated equally.
Samantha Emily Evans