Initiations. The age-old tradition of the oldest university in Aotearoa – but also, not really. Students come and go, upholding the bastion of traditions in the name of the “true student experience” without realising they cycle out of the rotation faster than a cheap pair of underwear. The student Exec proposes a new sort of initiation, taking the ethic of bonding with a touch of character-building humiliation, but without the side effect of CIA torture level abuse. Wouldn’t that be nice?
On the Exec, we pride ourselves on walking the talk. We’re not your parents: do as I say and not as I do doesn’t apply here. Read on for the juicy details as some of our members (would’ve been more, we’re busy people) test alternative initiation methods. There’s beer, there’s compasses, but most importantly – there’s silly business.
Can-a-Disc-Golf-Hole: Finance & Strategy Officer Daniel
Disc golf is a chaotic sport. Throw in boxes of piss and a bunch of blokes who don’t know how to throw a frisbee and you’ve got yourself an initiation: boozily bonding over our shared public humiliation at the course in Chingford Park in Northeast Valley. Think regular golf but with frisbees and a mandatory drink skulled for each completed hole until your box is empty. Our bevvy’s of choice were Summits, KGBs, Majors, and Woodstocks. Learning to throw a frisbee straight was enough of a challenge but, as we found out, chugging a drink every five minutes would be the real battle.
By the seventh hole, it was more about survival than fun. We were realising the meaning of initiation. By this point we were lining up to yack in the bush – the drinks were coming up as fast as they went down. Following this period of severe stomach punishment, we realised we had severely overestimated our drinking abilities. Admitting slight defeat, we unanimously decided it would be prudent to adjust our goal from 18 holes to just 12 (still a box down in about an hour and a half). Doing this meant we still had some motor skills available to complete the second half of the course. Acting like baby giraffes learning to walk for the first time, we persevered our way through to the end and celebrated with a wholesome group hug.
Although not all of the group remember finishing our game, we had a hell of a time. I would even go as far as to call it “fun”, which is more than I can say of the Castle Street initiation our flat had endured this time last year. For next time, don’t even bother trying to keep score. You’ll all be fucked before you get halfway and we’ll punish the first spewer with a walk home while the rest of us cruise back with the sober D. And before you ask: yes, we needed a kick-ons box to keep the buzz going. Nightfall is like a breatha’s dessert stomach: the magic reset button no matter how terrible you felt after dinner.
Pros: Bonding over shared suffering, nothing says “solidarity” like seeing your mates projectile in the bush knowing that'll be you in two minutes time
Cons: Regularly fertilising the bushes in chunder and time spent searching for rogue frisbees in the trees.
Dropped in the Middle of Butt-Fuck Nowhere: Clubs & Socs Rep Emma
The experience began with beanie-blindfolded little old me in my flatmate's car. She had kindly agreed to drop me off in the middle of fucking nowhere for my (solo) initiation with just a phone, water, and a pack of almonds. Luckily the weather was unusually clear for Dunedin. After a 25-minute ride of bump and turn inspired speculations on where she was taking me, we stopped. Removing the blindfold, I squinted at the large landscape, hopeful for clues. All I could see were plants. My flatmate waved goodbye and sped off (cackling to herself, no doubt) leaving me with more questions than answers. My brilliant deduction? She wouldn’t drive me too far (little did I know).
I initially underestimated the distance and walked downhill (which one was anyone’s guess) for about 20 minutes. After much frantic scanning of my surroundings, it dawned on me that I had been dropped on the opposite side of Mt. Cargill. With no data on my phone for maps, I relied on the high elevation for orientation. If New Zealand is Middle Earth, I was its hobbit. Navigating the rugged terrain (the dirt on the side of the road) was the first of many battles. The blisters on my feet grew more agonising with each step, making the trek increasingly unbearable – I don’t know how Bilbo did this barefoot. I rationed my water, consumed the last of my almonds, and paused occasionally to photograph the local cows and sheep. Anything to distract myself from the discomfort.
The trek took five hours. The hardest part: knowing I had limited time before the sun set, running out of almonds to snack on, and fighting the urge to call for a rescue mission just so I could have time to pre for Pint Night – my favourite event of the week. As soon as I arrived back at my flat huffing and puffing, I was greeted by the flatmate who’d dropped me off. Before I could relax, she – in the same breath as asking how the trek was – asked if I could vacuum the flat. With a SMILE. I will never forget this. It seemed that the day’s challenges were not quite over for me.
Pros: Experiencing a Dunner stunner and feeling like Bear Grylls
Cons: Feeling like a lost sheep (minus the sheep selfies)
Create a Fake Club and Recruit Members: Political Rep Liam & International Rep Ibuki
The work of the Exec is all about goodwill, and we’ve earned ourselves a pretty good reputation and the trust of our people. For our initiation, we abused just that. Our initiation was to create a fake club and see how long we could hold someone in conversation for – recruiting members if possible. We decided to make this more difficult for ourselves and make the vaguest club we could. And so, the University of Otago Community Organising Club (UOCOC) was born. We made brochures, posters, spray-painted a makeshift cardboard sign, and off we went to gaslight the masses.
People varied in interest, from criminal side eye to someone who was genuinely invested in safe spaces for students with anxiety to whom we promised a silent board game night where everyone wears headphones and doesn't talk to each other. Someone was interested in joining the club’s executive and we promised them that they could run for one of our 15 “Co-President” (Community-President) positions. Some switched on individuals caught onto the bit – Liam’s pseudonym “Jack Hoft” was their first clue. The gag peaked, however, at our first real sign-up after a two-minute conversation with a very earnest former president of a (real) club who lamented how difficult it was to get people to attend events. We empathised.
Liam decided his best bet was to lie. Like all bad habits, he started small. He preached to passers-by that we were a club of students with a dream of creating a “student focussed community.” We spoke of supporting local bands to find venues and helping the Dunedin City Council (DCC) with their student focussed events. But it soon snowballed. By the end of the allotted hour we were telling prospective members, “You know the farmers market? Yeah that’s us.” We were also running a virtual reality musical festival and “waiting to hear back” from Billie Eilish and Travis Scott. Meanwhile, Liam’s Co-President Ibuki decided he would just repeat the same lines constantly about the importance of community. This was to the point where someone asked, “But what do you do?” three times, and he continued with the importance of community to hunter-gatherer communities.
We must be honest: if you’re looking for an embarrassing but funny initiation, it doesn't get better than this. It’s like hooking-up with a toxic ex; the sense of guilt and shame you walk away with stays with you and you’re certainly keeping your head down walking to lectures. But just remember that UOCOC is the Heart of the Otago Community, Community is Everything and Everything is Otago.
Pros: Extremely painful interactions, can be tailored for different tastes or needs
Cons: Harassing strangers for clout and requires Canva premium
Using Mining By-Laws to Glamp: President Keegan & Admin Vice Prez Emily
There is a rumour that has gone around for many years – a quite simple one at that. Because of an old time by-law that was never removed, word on the street is that you are allowed to camp in the Octagon, originally to grant the ability to pitch a tent in the town square as you are on your way out to the gold mines. Allegedly, this is how the anti-vax people camped and lived in the Octagon for those few months at the start of 2022. So that was the plan. We sat down and tactfully chose the night we would leave the comfort of our homes to venture out, pitch a tent in the town centre, and play Minecraft on the DCC’s Wi-Fi.
The goal was to pick a time where we would receive the least amount of harassment – student, weather or otherwise. But just to be sure, we did a bit of research to confirm this mining by-law did exist. After a few quick Google searches it seemed legit but there was no actual proof of it. Just a few articles saying that it existed. In the spirit of journalistic integrity (and our so-far clean criminal records) we opted to first call up the DCC and just ask if we could. Oh, and lie and say we were from Critic.
The urgency of the print cycle was lost on these bureaucrats. We were told that the parks department would get back to us. But after a few one-way phone calls to the parks department, we reached the same conclusion as a date on their second solo glass of wine: we’d been stood up. We gave up. There would be no gold nuggets of friendship discovered, no conversations as deep as mineshafts, or any tables crafted on the mostly shitty Dunedin public Wi-Fi. How we yearned for it.
It was a sad day realising our fate was crushed by the cat-fishers of the parks department. In a desperate attempt to reconcile the bit, we discussed trying to camp somewhere in town would be an underwhelming second. The town belt was ruled out on account of creepy lurkers and the Botans ruled out as it is gated and patrolled. We landed on Woodhaugh Gardens where Keegan hammocked for a night as Emily was away for mid-sem break. It was fine. But it is certainly no town centre and if the parks department ever calls us back, you bet your sweet bippy we will be there in a heartbeat.
Pros: Waking up to birds and bush is nice
Cons: No Minecraft on public Wi-Fi :/
Walking the Leith in a Pirate Costume: Academic Rep Stella
In true Ecology major form, I decided that if I must test out an alternative initiation, I may as well walk the Leith in a pirate costume. The natural pipeline. While I’ve spent plenty of quality time with this particular body of water, I felt like we’d just lost touch recently (it’s not you, it’s me). A hot-girl walk down it was in order. I donned my historically inaccurate pirate costume handily leftover from Hyde Street Party and really nicely asked my boyfriend to drop me off at Ross Creek. Ceebs finding the actual headwaters of the Leith.
As my hīkoi down the Leith began, to the amusement of a couple of on-lookers, I promptly got a killer wedgie. LookSharp didn’t exactly have an extensive size range in their pirate costumes so I was wearing one fit for a 13 year-old boy. Thanks to my dedication to alternatively initiating myself (and my fear of Nina), I took a concrete pill and some Ritalin and carried on my merry way. I spent a fair bit of time bush-bashing and sacrificed some of my costume to the bush gods. Just when I thought that hope was lost and I’d have to forgo my worldly possessions to live off of rat carcasses, I emerged from the native forest in Dalmore. Making it to Dalmore sounds far more exciting than it was. Not that Dalmore sounds all that thrilling. But I was hoping that I would emerge closer to sensible civilization, not in a suburb in North D that I had to look up on Google Maps.
The remainder of the trudge home was uneventful. I mourned the spider friends I’d made somewhere in Woodhaugh and shed a tear over the beautiful kōura family in a miscellaneous stream. With very wet gumboots and a nasty blister forming, I finally made it to campus. Taking in the view from beneath the Clocktower, I revelled in the glory that is the University of Otago. The harsh shapes of whatever glass building is next to St Daves, the depressing view of Science III, and the unrecycled bottle of Nitro floating by really reminded me of what Otago stands for. I was at one with nature, in such a state of nirvana that I felt myself evolve into a true beezy. This trance was quickly broken by the sight of an oncoming Campus Watch officer and I dashed back home, sober and wet and all the more initiated.
Pros: At one with nature, hot-girl walk, God-complex from being able to find rivers on a map.
Cons: Blisters, cold water, disapproving looks from Dalmore’s ageing population, and a high risk of scurvy
Ten More Alternative Initiation Ideas We Didn’t Do But You Should
- Tradie Lunch (eat a pie, drink a beer, smoke a dart)
- Pub Crawl, but with actual crawling (PPE may be needed)
- Lie to a couple's counsellor for an entire session (accents recommended)
- Flat open mic night with original songs at a local pub
- Busking on George St (try and make the most money, then buy drinks with it)
- Central Library flash mob in silence
- Play "Penis" in Central Lib/Unipol
- Happy Meal shake (A+ Burgers combo, in blender, chunky)
- Become a SoundCloud rapper for a week (on all your social platforms)
- Email a random student a very intense love letter