Later!
Jen
That Little Italian Joint, Inc.
Jennifer,
It has come to my attention that every time other servers gather to sing the birthday song, you hide in the walk-in freezer. Not only does this behavior lessen our guests’ experience, but it puts a strain on the other waiters and waitresses who have to scramble to find additional singers.
I don’t care if the song “Happy Birthday” “makes you itchy.” This is your last formal warning to cease this behavior. Dodge your duties again and you will be fired.
Douglas Handler, Shift Manager
January 30, 1989
To All My Pledge Sisters,
Thank you so much for electing me to lead this impressive group. I promise to be the best pledge president in the history of our chapter. I’ll take my role as leader very, very seriously and will work hard to help us all advance socially, academically, and morally on our path to initiation. I look forward to upholding the fine tradition of wine and silver blue with all of you.
Pi Love and Mine,
Jen Lancaster, Pledge Class President
“You can’t do it,” Molly declares.
“Check the bylaws,” I counter.
“I did check the bylaws. It’s not technically forbidden, but . . .”
“Then what’s the problem?”
I’m currently locked in the little glass office off the Greek suite in our sorority’s wing. I’m also locked in combat with Molly, the member assigned to “educate” us pledges.111 I freaking adore everyone in my pledge class and I love all the sisters . . . except for Molly. I like her, but I can’t seem to pry the enormous stick out of her ass. Or dislodge her sense of moral superiority.
“The problem is”—she pauses to gather her thoughts—“the problem is it’s a problem. Some of the sisters don’t like it.”
“Who?” I ask.
“I’d rather not say.” So by “sisters” you mean “you.” Everyone I’ve run it past thinks it’s the best idea ever.
I was right in the middle of a chef salad and a lovely chat with my favorite pledge sister Audra when Molly barged in, demanding she speak with me. I couldn’t say no, and now Molly’s been lecturing me for fifteen minutes and my patience is running on empty. Audra can see how aggravated I am so she begins to make obscene gestures112 behind Molly’s back. I have to stifle a laugh and pretend like I’m taking Molly seriously. She is the more senior member and I’m supposed to defer to her, even though she’s wrong.
“It’s not going to be an orgy, it’s a toga party,” I tell her. Molly screws her face up in confusion. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Molly, how can you be in a sorority and not know one of the most famous Animal House quotes ever?”
She purses her lips. “You’re trying to change the subject.” Actually, I’m completely on subject. The first time I saw Animal House, I felt something bordering on awe. Greek life seemed like so much goddamned fun that I couldn’t imagine not being a part of it when I got to college. My standing here in front of Molly is a direct result of having fallen in love with Otter, Bluto, Eric Stratton, and the rest of the barely fictional Delta house ten years earlier.
I take a deep breath and count to five so I don’t get all shouty. “No, I’m trying to inject some levity into the situation. Here’s the deal. You told our pledge class we had to plan a walkout.113 I know we normally do walkout to a sister house on another campus. Everyone I’ve talked to said they’ve had a lousy time the last few years. The walkout in Michigan blew goats, as did the trip to Ohio. I proposed something a little different, we voted on it, and there you go. Plan revised. Majority rules.”
When I found out our proposed sorority walkout date was the same weekend as Purdue’s Grand Prix,114 I panicked. Attendance has been a personal tradition since I was a senior in high school and I hated the idea of not being there this year. Yet I worked so hard and waited so long to be a part of a sorority I liked that I didn’t want to miss out on being with them, either.
So I got creative.
I figured if walking out to a house full of snotty girls wasn’t fun, then why do it? Since Purdue runs three to one in its ratio of fraternities to sororities, I knew there’d be a bunch of places that didn’t “pair” with a campus sorority for the weekend. I figured a number of them would be happy to have us come down for the night. We could go, party with cute boys,115 and the next day I could introduce my favorite pledge sisters to my friends on campus.
A handful of calls to various fraternity social directors later, I had three houses dying for us to come.116 I made sure they set aside a wing of bunks in their cold-air dorms and cleaned up a private bathroom where we could shower. The whole weekend will be precisely as innocent as we want. Problem solved!
Molly argues, “You scare some of the girls because you’re a little older than them.”
“Bullshit. Half of them are my age.” A lot of my pledge sisters went to other schools first and found themselves in situations similar to mine. Heck, that’s why I connected with them in the first place.
Molly chews this over for a second. “Then maybe they didn’t want to say no to you.” One sister sees you aggressively badgering a couple of random students into buying your fund-raising Kit Kat bars, and all of a sudden you’re the monster. Listen, the profit I made off those candy bars was going to pay for important things—like gas money to get to parties on another campus. The real monsters are the ones who didn’t want to support this fine, fine organization by paying three bucks for a quality chocolate bar. (Technically everyone else was selling them for a dollar but I kind of ate a bunch of mine and I had to do something to make up the difference, right?)
I watch as Audra starts stealing the olives out of my salad, so I scratch my ear with my middle finger in her direction. She sees me and pretends to use my fork as toilet paper. Then she hands it to Laurie—also in our pledge class—who begins to lick it. They’re obviously shaking in their boots at the thought of me.
“Molly, we’re going nowhere.”
“Great! Glad to hear you’ve come around to my way of thinking.”
“No. I mean this conversation is going nowhere. Come on, the whole pledge class voted yes. And if everyone said yes because they were too afraid to cast a secret ballot in front of my antique ass, then it’s your job to boost their confidence.”
“But . . . but . . .”
The idea of losing this argument pains me but Molly’s not going to get off my case if we don’t compromise. “Mol, how about this? Why don’t we do another vote? You can give a little speech beforehand urging everyone to vote their conscience.”
Molly hesitates. “I guess that would be fair.”
“Great. If you’ll excuse me, I have to beat the lettuce out of Audra.”
We vote again and it’s unanimous. We’re totally going.
All I hear from everyone the second we get back until initiation at the end of semester is, “Best walkout ever!”
I suspected as much.
Molly can suck it.
Personally, I find it almost impossible to have anything but fun around fraternity guys. There’s a scene in Animal House when Dean Wormer is complaining about what a blight the Delta house is on campus. He goes on about how the brothers are responsible for dumping a truckload of fizzies into the pool at the swim meet and how they had the med school cadavers delivered to the alumni dinner and how every Halloween the trees fill with underpants and every spring the toilets explode, and I guarantee you there are pledge classes out there hanging on every wonderfully suggestive word.
I love fraternity guys. I love visiting their houses and seeing how they’ve taken pickaxes and tunneled into the turret of the building, making a supersecret party room. I love the care they take in displaying the more colorful varieties of empty liquor bottles on their windowsills. I love how they teach the house mascot, an unkempt Saint Bernard, to drink out of the water fountain. I love that no matter how tall or short or fat or thin a guy
is, all of them can share the same pair of chinos and a white Ralph Lauren button-down. I love being upstairs ten minutes before the party starts and smelling the combination of steam from the showers and too much Polo cologne and the slightest tang of a now dry spilled beer coming from the hallway carpet. I love being behind them in line at the grocery store, watching them buy boxes of Count Chocula and cases of Guinness with absolutely no shame.
I have no doubt in ten years I’ll be shouting when one of these kids leaves an empty bottle on my lawn and I’ll seethe with rage if one of them ever chops down and steals the magnificent fir tree in my someday front yard. I’ll call the police if they’re too loud and I’ll go to zoning meetings to see what can be done about keeping them from parking on my street.
But for now? Their kind can do no wrong, even if they might piss me off individually by breaking a date or cheating on a friend.
I absolutely plan on marrying a fraternity guy because their ability to pledge allegiance to something bigger than themselves in the name of commitment—even though it’s sometimes guaranteed to suck117—is the exact quality I want in a husband.
Hey, Joanna!
I’m sorry I haven’t called in a couple of weeks but I’ve been so freaking busy with rush. I had no idea what life was like on the other side of the receiving line. I thought being a rushee was stressful, but it’s nothing compared to having to learn the songs and act in the skits and plan the menu and stuff. And being forced to vote on people? That’s . . . harsh.
The best news is that someone you know won the award for Best Rusher! My prize was a little gold sorority letter lavaliere with a gold arrow charm. (It looks AWESOME on me.) I was so superior at starting conversations and making people feel welcome that no one even cast a vote for anyone else. (Well, they did, but totally out of sympathy. I completely ruled.)
Regardless, I had such a great experience that I may just run for Rush Chairman next year.
Pi Love and mine,
Jen
Dear Joanna,
Exactly what is so fucking funny?
Curiously,
Jen
First She Was a Seed and Then She Was Trouble
(Gold Lavaliere, Part Two)
To the Gorgeous Women of the Indiana Eta Chapter:
Ha! I totally knew that line would get your attention! I’d first like to say I’m super-excited you’ve selected me as your Rush Chairman. Major snaps to all of you! I promise to not disappoint, but I’d like to make the following rules clear:
Jen’s Rules for a Supercool Rush
We’re going to have the super-est, coolest rush ever. Live, learn, and recognize.
I can’t and won’t do all the work myself. Let’s establish that right off the bat. I have some fab ideas that simply won’t work without 100% participation. I ran for this position not only so I could plan excellent parties, but because I care about the social, academic, and moral future of our chapter. Recognize that rush isn’t just about getting fun pledges. We’re going to be choosing future chapter presidents and Grand Council members. The actions we take during rush will have repercussions for YEARS to come. Keep this is mind!
BEHAVE YOURSELVES ACCORDINGLY. Rushees will see you on campus. You are to uphold the principles of this sorority in public.
You WILL attend rush workshops. Rush dates are listed on the attached page. With the approval of Panhel, we’ll also be able to have some informal stuff during the week. We’ll discuss the details at the workshops, which you all WILL attend. No excuses!
You will join a rush interest group or I will join it for you. Once again, I need, no, REQUIRE your help getting rush together. To aid me in my quest, I’ve appointed a rush interest group. You know who you are. Remember to appoint your own committees to help you. Rush is everyone’s responsibility and you should have no trouble finding willing volunteers. You ARE going to be a willing volunteer. Also? The rush interest group will be fun—pinky swear!
Have fun!! Rush will be a blast, especially because we’ll be putting on a helluva good show for the rushees. I’ll be handing out a number of awards after each party, so be on the lookout! I want all of you to ENJOY rush, not dread it. Plus, I appreciate suggestions, provided they are not stupid. (Mandy, the Little Mermaid skit is not going to happen. Get over it.)
Be positive!! I won’t tolerate negativity about rush! I don’t want to hear complaints that we never did it that way before. We’re breaking new ground with this rush and I demand everyone have a positive attitude about it. You will be happy or I will MAKE you happy. Remember, change can be good. You will embrace it.
Thanks again for placing your trust in me. I guarantee we will have a fun and successful rush!!
Enthusiastically Yours,
Jen Lancaster, Rush Chairman
The sun is to Joanna’s back, and so as she stands in front of me, all I can see is her golden outline. In a voice colored with curiosity and maybe a bit of disgust, she says, “Um . . . good morning?”
I’m sitting on the steps leading up to her off-campus apartment by the shop where they sell muffins the size of mag wheels. Since she’s a fifth-year senior, she’s no longer required to live at the sorority house.118
Good thing, too. Hers was the closest place I could think to go after I woke up. I did not want to be walking around campus like this. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror when I stopped at the muffin place. My teased hair is flat in some places and even bigger in others. Mascara is smudged so deeply under my lids I may never get it all scrubbed off. My off-the-shoulder portrait-collar black leotard now looks trashy, rather than arty, as do the big bangle bracelets I’d paired with it. And my citrus green leopard-print miniskirt? Let’s just say some garments should never see the light of day. Completing the look, my gold sorority letter lavaliere and arrow charm glint in the hollow of my neck.
I stopped for a chocolate-chip muffin and hazelnut-flavored coffee, ordering them from the Mennonite lady who runs the store. She started to ask me if I needed help, then saw my necklace and gave me a wry smile. I wasn’t the first morning-after girl she’d served, apparently.
Joanna knew I was coming down here this weekend. The plan was to stay with Lisa in her sorority house in the hills north of campus. The three of us were supposed to try to hook up about twelve hours ago,119 but Harry’s was beyond crowded and there was no way Joanna could have gotten back to us in the fishbowl before we left for the Wabash Yacht Club.
There’s an odd little hierarchy of desirable places to sit at Harry’s, the most popular bar on campus. When I say we were in the fishbowl, I mean the big window one can only reach after heading down the long narrow part of the bar, turning the corner, and then working one’s way down the west side all the way to the bay window in front. This is prime real estate because it’s separated from the rest of the bar by a low wall, which can be used as seating but mostly serves to highlight who is and is not cool, at least for the evening. The glass affords the opportunity, nay the obligation, for random inebriated passers-by to thrust sweaty butt cheeks against it, to the perpetual amusement of all who are seated.
One might think this is the best seat in the house, but that’s not the case. True barflies know the most desirable spot from which to see and be seen is “the fireplace seat”120 right inside the front at the crook of the bar, no matter that it’s freezing in winter and broiling anytime the air is running. Aficionados understand that this place—temperature notwithstanding—is the ideal spot to meet and greet all evening long. Plus, drink service is faster, and when the bar violates fire code—which is often—those in the good seats have an easier escape route and are far less likely to perish. So there’s that.
While I sit on Joanna’s steps toying with the charms on my necklace, I take in how naturally radiant she is. When we were freshmen, she’d roll out of bed, throw pants on, and go to class, whereas I’d get up an hour and a half early to shower and do my makeup. Maybe that’s why I cut class all the time—too much grooming.
Joanna goes to hug me, but then wrinkles her pert nose and settles for a pat on my shoulder. I may be a tad smoky. Or a tad something. Her silver arrow bracelet gets caught in my nest of hair and it takes a moment for us to untangle. “Did your party at the Playboy mansion run late?” Churchy or not, Joanna’s still the master of the well-timed snarky retort.
“Let me in and give me some sweats to put on before I kill you.” I turn to her companion, who’s standing in stunned silence. “Hi, I’m Jen, nice to meet you.” I hold out a hand adorned with chipped cherry-red nail polish.
He says, “I heard about you.” Then he bids Joanna a touch-free good-bye, gets in his station wagon, and pulls away from the curb carefully but quickly.
“Who’s that?” I ask as we climb her stairs.
“A guy I met at Harry’s.”
“Is he cool?”
She pulls a face and shrugs. “Doubtful. For our first date we went to church and then had breakfast.”
I step into Joanna’s bathroom to scour off a few layers of mascara and tequila. “You always say you want to date a nice guy.”
She gets me a glass of water while I scrub. She sets it on the side of the sink and sits down on the edge of the tub. “He might be too nice, but . . . whatever. I’m more interested in what happened to you. Tell me again why you’re dressed like a hooker.”
Pretty in Plaid: A Life, A Witch, and a Wardrobe, or, the Wonder Years Before the Condescending,Egomaniacal, Self-Centered Smart-Ass Phase Page 15