Two years ago last week, poetic justice gave Mississippi State University students a week off of school in a semester where spring break was not on the calendar.
I am not one to look back at a natural disaster in a favorable light, but when snow and ice shuts down school for a week it is hard not to, at least a little bit, appreciate the gift.
I was a freshman in spring 2021, living in Deavenport Hall. When an ice storm hit, however, I, along with dozens of my brothers, decided to bunker down at our fraternity house.  
Of course, people remember those that sledded on tables behind trucks that weekend, sliding down hills, and drifting a little too far in their cars. What was not seen, however, was what went down at frat houses. The number of people staying in the house nearly doubled. We lived off of ham sandwiches (made with hamburger buns because bread was not available).
We made “supply runs” just for beer. These are the tame stories. 
Nobody slept. At any given hour, at least one person in the house was awake that week, at all hours, all week. We attempted to grill just to stay warm since the fireplace vent was broken. We played hockey in the frozen courtyard, and movie nights turned into everyone falling asleep during “Dunkirk”. 
Suitcases filled empty rooms of those who were not living at the house, packed tight like a Southwest terminal. Uphill walks to the dumpster became impossible. Trash built up in the driveway. By the end of the week, there were enough empty canisters of pre-workout to make one of those jacked GMO cows blush. 
I could go into more detail, but you and I both know why I cannot. Obviously standard college things happened; drinks were had almost every night, music was played, couches were slept on and a few recap conversations were in order every morning. There may have been a sunrise crew a few nights. Although I am only sure of two, there could be more. 
When you are growing up and learning about what college is, you do not hear about class. You do not hear about long study sessions or clubs. You hear about the memories that are made outside of the classroom. 
Ice Week was the most fun week of college for me and my friends because it was the one week where there was no class, barely any assignments and nothing to do except make new memories. We were careful about what we did, of course, but we made the best of it. 
I am not sure how to entirely sum up this week except by a rudimentary statistics card. I remember seven people slipping and falling on the ice (at least), three broken phones and one breakup (at the very least). We consumed 150 hamburger buns in either burgers or ham and cheese sandwiches, a few Northerners who thought we were being dramatic made eight supply runs and, on a particularly fraternal night, one person woke up with more pairs of pants on his legs than when he fell asleep. 
Somehow, there were zero frozen pipes, zero medical issues and zero power outages, adding up for one great time.