25.02.15, A Conversation Occurs:
A longtime friend of mine and fresh hermit contacts me,

“Backpage lime this weekend. Friday. Spread the word please.”

I had heard half-whispers of some plans but I was surprised to receive word on such an event at such short notice, two days before the event. Curious, I asked if the event details were finalised.

“Yup. Girls are $5. Men $20.”

My face immediately contorts into a disdainful expression. I had lived on my residence hall for about a year and never had heard of such a concept as women being charged for admission into one of the infamous Backpage limes. I shook my head.

“No way I’m paying $5.00 to lime on Backpage”, I expressed to one of my friends who was directly linked to the hosting group. Firstly, I lime in the vicinity on a weekend far too often to be expected to suddenly pay for the company and music the likes of which I participate in very regularly, no costs attached. Secondly, it was unheard of in recountable history to charge admission to the females who had decided to grace Backpage with their presence. Thirdly, it was a matter of principle to me, not money.

“You could just come with me and pass through,” my friend replied.

I rolled my eyes in response.

As I said, it was a matter of principle, not penny pinching. I didn’t want to be paid for or snuck in.

What you have to understand in order for my stance to make sense is that the concept of Backpage lime in the past has never been profit. It’s always been a bid to invite the company of the ladies, perhaps even some fresh faces and acquaint the gentlemen with certain opportunities.

To speak plainly, the men are typically trying to get sex.

I did not feel inclined to pay for the opportunity of being evaluated as a possible conquest for any young man.

27. 02. 15

10:30PM

After a series of interesting events: a last-minute invitation to the closing dinner of Social Sciences’ faculty week, a commotion caused by some inflamed resident shouting down to someone from the middle floor, a couple awkward conversations to be had because that resident was me…

I ended up going anyway.

I needed a cool out. I was looking forward to the party, forgetting the stress of social lives and residence life politics, staged elections and strange interactions with certain long-standing and respected senior residents. I arrived in a group of about 8 fellow residents. We had some misgivings about whether we should be going in, there was a certain unsettled feeling among the girls, stemming from feelings of being watched, shady figures on the roof of the building directly opposite our residency and a general disquiet among residents.

28. 02. 15

12.30AM

We entered Backpage. There was a total turnout of exactly three, other than us, present.

The party starts up slowly and eventually peters out shortly before sunrise.

.

.

.

Later, I hear grapevine reports of other girls being shamed for trying to make men pay not only admission for them but also their friends.

If you aren’t willing to pay your admission, why turn it into a power struggle though?, I think to myself. Just stay home.

But, of course, as happens in many girl groups, there existed a need to establish and demonstrate power lines and hierarchy. Shame and sullied reputations ensue. One resident falls from grace and social acceptance from her chosen group.

It isn’t me, so I do very little in response and keep my thoughts to myself.

The last thing you want on a residence hall is to start a girl war.

Peace, love and happy compliance,

M.

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