Sorority Sister Reject
“Hmmm, I don’t know….that outfit is a little alternative,” Daria said.
I was sporting my beige and black plaid pants, a fitted black low cut long sleeve top, and black boots, an ensemble I had carefully crafted together from Contempo Casuals specifically for sorority rush. What did she mean by alternative? It was hardly like I was wearing Martin Margiela.
Daria was dressed in a fuzzy high neck gray sweater, a knee-length ill-fitting black skirt, Mary Janes, and a silver cross that was carefully placed over her sweater. If she thought I was putting on an outfit like that to impress sorority chicks, she was fucking crazy. I would do pretty much anything to fit in, but dressing like a Catholic school reject was not one of them.
Besides, Daria doesn’t know what she’s talking about. My outfit is SO right now. I read Vogue religiously, so I should know.
I finished primping and headed out with the rest of the girls to the sorority rush. I wasn’t sure I even wanted to rush, but all the other girls in my dorm were going, so I did too.
“Welcome to ZPA!” one of the sisters screamed as we entered the first house. That’s Zelta Phi Alpha for those of you who don’t know.
The house was gorg. Compared to my dorm anyway. From the outside, it looked very classical with lots of columns in the front. Inside there was lots of white molding, a large dining room with a gigantic wood antique table, a living room with lots of overstuffed furniture from IKEA, Crate & Barrel, and Pier One, and everything smelled like cookies.
Wow, she’s so excited to see us. The only time I get that excited is when I’m cheerleading. And believe me, if you were staring at guys running around a field in tight pants you’d be excited too.
After waiting for all the wannabe pledgings to arrive, the sisters formed a circle. I wondered what they were going to do. Sacrifice a goat? Build a fire pit? Nope, they started singing.
“We love our sisters yes we doooooo. We hold hands and feel awesome. Lalalala!”
Omigod, am I in the fucking twilight zone? I didn’t know much about sororities, but I sure as hell didn’t think they sang weird-ass songs about their love for sisterhood. They weren’t even singing ironically, like how people always sing that Journey song, “Separate Ways.”
When they finally finished their singing, (if you can call it that; they sounded like a bunch of dying pigeons), we started mingling. I was looking around for someone to talk to when I caught sight of something more appealing. Shit that food table looks spectacular, I thought to myself. There was a massive table piled high with cookies, cupcakes, brownies, potato chips, pretzels, and assorted candies. I am normally extremely careful with my diet, but after their singing, I needed something to take the pain away.
“Eat me,” one of the brownies whispered. “I taste sooo good.”
“Oh I’m going to. Don’t you worry,” I answered.
One girl walked up to me mid-snack and introduced herself.
“Hi my name is Vicki, what’s yours?”
“Reshma.”
“How do you say that again?”
“Ray-sh-ma.”
“Hi, Resh-ma. So are you having a good time?” She was still pronouncing it wrong, but I was past the point of correcting people.
“Oh yeah, I love these brownies, they are delicious! Where did you get them?”
“We have a private chef that makes them.”
“No shit! Omigod, I would eat these all the time if I lived here. I’d like get so tubbs.”
“Um ok,” she replied looking at me as though I was some sort of heathen. “Well, nice meeting you.”
As we hopped from one rush party to another, I became seriously disturbed. The girls were all dressed like Stepford Wives, they all had the same one length hair, (had no one told them about the power of layers?)[1], they all loved generic Top 40, and they all seemingly hoped to date someone pre-med, or in finance and become a well-heeled housewife. All of which had the combined appeal of moving to Greenland or becoming a prostitute. Their choices reeked of sloth and unoriginality. Not once did I hear a sorority sister dream of becoming a drug lord, marrying one of the members of Wu-Tang Clan, or achieving world domination. Even worse, they all had that perpetually happy ridiculous grin plastered on their faces. Was I missing something? What the fuck were they grinning like hyenas for?
Apparently, they didn’t get me either, because not one of the ten sororities picked me to come back tomorrow for round two. Except for the sorority of girls who never get laid. I certainly wasn’t going to join that one. I went to my dorm room and locked the door. I suddenly had a deep feeling of malaise. Is this what it’s come to? I know I didn’t exactly like rushing and I thought all the sisters were fucking whack. Nevertheless I still felt like a reject. I wanted to fit in even if I didn’t like any of the people I was trying to fit in with.
When I told Daria I didn’t understand why I didn’t get any invites to come back she simply stated, “Well you’re kind of weird.”
I was weird? What was weird to me was being everyday, ordinary, boring. Wanting the same things that everyone else wanted: a house in suburbia, stability, a medical degree, a rich husband in a three-piece suit.
So I didn’t get into any of the sororities. But at least I had loftier goals. Become Gwen Stefani’s secret best friend. Live as a gay man for one day. Get high with Wu-Tang. One day it would happen.
