Watching the People Get Lairy in Sheffield, England

by Katie Knepler
(Minneapolis, MN)

One of the many puzzling outfits during a typical night out.

Getting my football fix at the home of Manchester United.

Tea trays as big as your head!

Out and about in Sheffield.

It was two months before my 20th birthday. The customs officer at the Manchester, England airport glanced at the birthdate on my passport, looked up, and gruffly said, “Well you better live it up before you’re not a teenager anymore!” before sending me on with a wink and a nod.

I took his advice to heart and threw myself headfirst into living the life of a student at the University of Sheffield, where my sister was studying, for what turned out to be the best two weeks of my summer. Raucous evenings in the Student Union’s bar and clubs were marked by foot injuries sustained from pasty Brits moshing to “Smells Like Teen Spirit” and sightings of groups dressed in matching costumes for any number of ridiculous bar crawl themes.

After sleeping off the nights’ events, I spent my days attempting to climb giant hills in the idyllic countryside, pondering how “salad cream” was an acceptable replacement for dressing, stalking members of Sheffield’s own Arctic Monkeys, and shouting along at the television screen with other football (soccer to you Americans) fanatics. I just wish I could have run into that customs official again to reassure him that my teen years ended with all of the chaos, wonder, and bemusement that was implied in his sage advice.