This summer I decided that I needed a rebrand. That’s right; I, Cham Bana, have renounced my ways as a stereotypical sorority girl and covered my face in indistinguishable face ink that makes me look (and feel) like a totally different person and apparently “isn’t appropriate for formal recruitment.”
For the last two years, I have revolved all my time and energy around being involved in my srat, and it’s gotten to be so boring! Sure, going out every night was fun at first, but a girl can only fall off the table at The Red Lion so many times before it gets old. I needed some spice in my life, like armed robbery or something. I’m now inked up, and want the world to see me as I am. So put away that concealer Sarah, because if my sorority makes me cover my face tattoos during formal recruitment, I’m dropping.
Goth chicks are in right now, and nothing screams “I’m emotionally damaged” like a giant “loveless” tattoo written across your forehead. I thought you guys wanted to start hanging out with Psi Psi Psi, but not if ya’ll going to act like a bunch of posers. We might as well make our bid day theme Twenty-One Pilots at this point. Throw out your crystal necklaces and chokers—we’ve got to commit if we’re trying to climb.
What ever happened to lifelong sisterhood? I thought we supposed to accept each other for who we were, or at least fake it. You’re telling me Alison gets to talk about her horse as much as she wants, and I have to cover up my tattoos? Or that Jill can blabber on for hours about her trip to Spain, but I can’t talk about the three girls I had to stab in the state pen to get my teardrop tattoos? I mean, last week I listened to Allie talk about hiking for two hours. Two hours.
I guess we just aren’t as accepting as we say we are.
I’m no melon. I heard all the comments my “sisters” made during work week. The snarky remarks, the backhanded compliments. “Oh, Cham Bana, the tattoos you got this summer are so interesting. I hope that doesn’t stop you from getting a job.”
Fucking bitch. What does she know? Does she think she’s going to have any doors opened for her by putting down that she holds the position of assistant vice-president of internal affairs on her resume?
Give me a break.
Don’t think about locking me in the basement either. We all know who gets puts on craft duty during rush: the freaks and the uggos. But I’m hot. No, I will not be stuck in that stuffy basement with Heather the crazy-eyed bedwetter Jenna. You guys should really consider yourselves lucky that I’m even in this mid-tier house; I should have been a Delta Delta Pi.
So there’s my case, “head chair of recruitment.” That’s not even a real title by the way. My face tattoos show the world that I’m a strong, self-possessed woman who also may have committed a felony. If you can’t accept that, then I guess I shouldn’t be here in the first place.
So go ahead, make as many comments as you want about my tats, but if you think that I’m covering them up, then sayonara sister.
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