1. Poverty makes for great parties.
Lamb with mint sauce, champagne and caviar? Pft. No thanks. Can you even drink from a champagne flute with your nose so high up in the air? Broke people innovate the best parties. And really, third class and college housing are startling similar – too many people crammed into small rooms with absolutely no privacy. But these conditions bond people together. All it takes is one song and guys from four different countries magically know all the steps. It’s the equivalent of a kid from the Midwest and a kid from Brooklyn both fist-pumping to the same dubstep song. Bond formed! And none of your clothes are worth anything, so why not spill beer on them? Parties are really all you have when you’re midway through a journey that isn’t going to give you the bright future you thought it would.
2. White boys with long hair always think they can dance.
All it takes is a sprightly tune for Leo to stuff his hands in his pockets and stomp the floor and turn in a circle. By the same token, all it takes is one Justin Timberlake/Montell Jordan mash-up for the guy with the man bun to clear a circle so everyone can check out his fantastically bad pop and lock. The same way nothing says “I’m going to fuck you in a car on a boat” quite like spinning your date in a circle until she might throw up, nothing says “two pump chump” like doing the Michael Jackson spin move.
3. First class girls can drink.
This shouldn’t be a surprise. Rose hangs out with some of the most obnoxious and wealthy people earth. Girl needs a coping mechanism. What is surprising is that a first class girl can chug a stout beer. But no one said they can handle their liquor. A notorious sign of not being able to hold your drink is letting a near stranger draw a naked picture of you – wearing this, wearing only this. Rose was a pioneer of sexting if the world has ever known one, an early precursor to freshmen who end up starring in an embarrassing SnapChat story.
4. There’s always someone who doesn’t belong.
I guess in steerage everybody is too busy drinking, arm wrestling and hitting their knees with spoons to notice the wildly inappropriate presence of the old fogey bodyguard spying on Rose. How is it that in a room full of people no one looked up and said, “Hey, that guy is in a suit – should he be here?” He’s the equivalent of the Phi Delta Sigma who graduated five years ago but just came to hang out with what he calls “the new talent”. He probably has a video camera, but he definitely can’t hang.