It’s #RushSZN, and you know what that means: hundreds of freshmen guys drinking copious amounts of alcohol in an attempt to secure a bid from Delta Alpha Beta or any other string of Greek letters you could possibly think up, along with thirsty girls flocking in droves to houses filled with free drinks. The Black Sheep somehow managed to find the one sober person at the party, and he had a few things to say:
Dear anyone who’s ever decided to go to a frat party during rush week,
Hi. You probably don’t know my name, or recognize my face, or even care about me. If you’re a girl, you maybe love me for however long it takes you and your friends to run past me, giggling, into the million degree house I’m protecting (usually about five seconds). If you’re a dude, you most definitely hate me for turning you away because your ratio sucks. You guessed it: I’m the poor sober sucker running risk. You know what’s even worse? I signed up for this.
In all my time standing outside the Delta Alpha Beta fraternity house, I’ve seen a lot of stupid things, and I think a lot of thoughts.
First of all, do you girls get cold in your tiny shirts and skirts in the middle of winter? I’ve been standing outside for two hours and I can’t feel my face. A polar bear might describe it as “a bit nippy.” Just a suggestion: maybe you should start wearing coats, or at least something with pockets, so I don’t have to hear you whining that you lost your phone and you need my phone to find it. If you already lost your phone, what makes you think I’m going to give you mine to find it? You’re already a proven phone-loser. Don’t drag me down with you. Go bother a pledge instead.
Next, I don’t let many guys in, but when I do, it’s because I secretly believe in you. I choose to believe that you can tolerate your alcohol and your non-threatening demeanor will not change as the night goes on. I get really, really, disappointed when you stumble out vomiting 45 minutes later. If I turn you away, I always feel bad. We could have been bros, but you didn’t have enough hoes. Also, you would’ve made a really shitty pledge.
Finally, when I say the house is full and I can’t let anyone else in, I mean that the house is actually really full and going in there would be like experiencing a Natty Light-coated hell, and I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. And really, what’s the best thing that could happen to you in there? Sure, your chances of getting squished up against a girl are high and that’ll be great. But it won’t take more than ten seconds for you to accidentally elbow her, spilling her drink down her shirt and eliminating any chance of you getting any action.
Do I enjoy being the risk manager? Let’s just say I enjoy how it’s going to look on my resume and leave it at that. I could really use a drink right now. See, there’s a guy you should go interview: the bartender.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go stop a group of guys from sneaking into the basement through the window and then sit and think about the decisions I’ve made that led to this.
The Risk Chair