The end of Freshman Freeze means registered dance parties at the fraternity houses, more open guy flirting and, of course, Sunday night dinners. The dinners are the first (official) chance for freshman or any other unaffiliated guys to check out Greek life for themselves. As a member of a fraternity, I can tell you that a whole host of preparations go into these dinners, many of which are lost on the unsuspecting fresh fish.
Dinner from the point of view of a fraternity brother:
Okay, fuck, they’re going to be here any minute.
Calm down, bro. They’re stupid freshmen. But I really, really hope they like me and think I’m cool. What are you so worried about? You’re fuckin’ Broses. You’re leading these poor, captive freshmen out of residential life oblivion and into the promised land of free low-end beer and girls with low self-esteem. How could they not love you? They should be kissing the pop in your collar and be polishing the untouched New Era sticker on your backwards hat for the opportunity you’re giving them.
Everything is in place. I made sure no smashed beer can was left unturned. We cleaned up everything. That blood stain near the front door where Boomer took a nose dive after that Andre-bonging contest was cleverly blended in by Tim. He’s an art major or some shit like that. You can’t see anything. Plus, I’ve Febreezed everything in the whole house. We’re good. This place looks like a sorority. Maybe it’s too clean.
Never mind. What about the food? What does everyone love to eat? Burritos, obvi. Where do you get burritos in Evanston? Chi-mothafuckin-potle. It’s brill. No other house on campus could have thought of it. Obvious, yet obscure. We will be the winners of rush for sure.
Okay, they’re here.
Oh, hey. It’s Ethan Barry from Charleston, South Carolina. Age: 18. Major: Political Science. Distinguishing feature: stupid glasses. Initiating hello sequence.
“Hey, man. How’s it going?”
“Fine. It’s Chris, right?”
“Yeah. I actually go by Queefer Sutherland around here.”
“…cool.”
“I’m sorry, bro, but I can’t seem to remember your name.”
“Ethan.”
“Yeah, whatever, just head on in. Grab a bro-rrito and chill.”
“Alright. See you.”
He wants in. It was as clear as day. But if he thinks he’s getting a bid, think again. We’ve got this campus on lock. Rush won.
Dinner from the point of view of a prospective pledge:
I never thought I could eat so many half burritos. This shit is the best. Free food and all I have to do is tell a bunch of guys what my major is and where I’m from. I did actually meet a few down to earth guys. I’ll be back, if not only for the free food.
Shit. This house? That Chris kid from my poli sci discussion is in this house. He walked up to me after section and started talking me up. He said he liked my reference to Scarface, which was in his opinion the greatest movie ever made. I thought, “What’s next? Is he going to ask for my number?” He did. He only texted three times this morning, which is much less than I was expecting.
In all honesty, I am looking for a house to join. A frat seems like the right choice for me. At least, I think so. I have older friends in fraternities that tell me to ignore the rush bullshit, the pretty face of interest and sincerity everyone puts on during dinners like these and other events. They say it’s what they have to do to get people in. Once they’re in is when people can relax and get a feel for the house. That’s kind of scary. The houses that really interest me are the ones where I can get a glimpse of a normal night in the house and what people are actually like, and not trying to seduce me.
At least I don’t have to worry about the horror stories I hear from sorority rush. That shit is scary.
Okay, time to walk into Mordor.
This house smells like Febreze, skunked beer and shit. Is that blood? Wait, no. It’s blood surrounded by what appears to be red Kool-Aid stains. Nice.
More burritos? That’s the fifth house tonight. Fuck. I don’t think I can eat any more.
Dammit. He’s coming over.
“Hey, man. How’s it going?”
“Fine. It’s Chris, right?”
“Yeah. I go by Queefer Sutherland around here.”
Queefer Sutherland? I go to the same school as a guy who goes by Queefer Sutherland. I’ll be sure to let mom and dad know in the morning.
“…cool.”
“I’m sorry, bro, but I can’t seem to remember your name.”
“Ethan.”
“Yeah, just head on in. Grab a bro-rrito and chill.”
“Alright. See you.”
Why do I get the feeling he’s more nervous than I am? The guy sounded like he was ready to piss his pants. It doesn’t matter. I’m not that interested in Kool-Aid-Sigma-Blood Stains anyway.
Most of these guys don’t understand. I’m looking for a second home here. Anyone can ask me what my major is and what it’s like and how’s it going. If they just drop the pretense bullshit and just talk to me, I’d be fine. Yeah, I want to come off as cool and acceptable, but when you dismiss someone immediately as not being a “fit” for the house without even getting to know a person, do you really expect me to be interested at all?