Alison Spurgeon

Sorority life is not all that it is cracked up to be. Every August, we have to interview potential new members during a two-week rush. The interviewing happens at parties, through regular conversation. So here I was at one of our first rush parties (there were 13 today) and what happens, I accidentally commit the cardinal rush sin: I say, “See you later!” to one of the rushees. That was like guaranteeing her an invitation back to our house, even though she was just a name to me.

One rushee’s only topics of conversation were her father and how much money her parents deposit in her checking account every week. I was completely screwed–this girl actually thought I could tolerate her pettiness. I must admit that I was tempted to chirp something along the lines of “My dad is unemployed and he makes me sell my body for sex,” but I restrained myself. Let me just tell you about this social marathon: Imagine having to smile for so long that your cheeks start to shake and many girls around you begin to get teary-eyed. I have often stood outside singing like a robot and wondering to myself, “Did I shave?” and “What’s for lunch?”

Then the moment of truth is upon you. You try to stay away from the generic questions they have been hearing all day long. Today, I found myself talking about the banana milkshakes at Sonic and whether they were better than the cherry limeades–I know, pretty intellectual. But sometimes I just go off on tangents like that and hope that the girls don’t think we are a house of limeade-slurping hookers. We not only had to deal with 65 to 75 girls per party but also with the heat and humidity.

We also attracted an uninvited guest. This morning we were going through our “welcoming” song for the rushees for the umpteenth time and what happens, we spot the OCM in front of our house. OCM is my sorority’s lingo for the On-Campus Masturbator. We have quite a few–when I read the campus newspapers I see notices about them all the time. So there he was in his beat-up red Gremlin with his seat arched back and his fat belly and you-know-what hanging out. I mean I hate rush enough as it is, but do I have to be subjected to that kind of trauma that early in the morning? I just don’t get OCMs. We had one two years ago that would station himself like Spiderman on our fire escapes. I guess we are the OCMs ultimate fantasy. I mean who wouldn’t want “hundreds of beautiful girls and three ugly ones”? That’s a slogan from my hometown strip joint, and no, I do not dance there!