FrΔts Sμck

September 14, 2010

I’m not a member of the Greek community at UMass, and after my experience with them last year I don’t think I ever will be.

It was the first or second month of freshman year. A few friends asked me to go with them to a frat house, which will go unnamed both for the sake of anonymity and because I actually don’t remember which one it was. I was so excited to finally experience everything about college that Asher Roth had promised me, and with a skip in my step I set off for Frat Row.

A bit to my surprise, the line to get into the house ran from the backyard all the way out into the street. We waited for what seemed like fifteen minutes before we even reached the door, when suddenly the girls I had come with all started saying that they hadn’t brought any money. All of them. I’d brought money for myself, and I had some extra in my wallet, but I hadn’t intended on spending that money on someone else. The girls groaned “Ohh now we can’t get in.” “Aww no!” “Oh no I can’t believe I didn’t bring money!” until one of them had a bright idea.

“Mike, do you have money?”


So yea, I said I had money. I had just barely enough in my wallet to get my friends in, since I only really knew a few of them. It was 5 bucks a pop, so I ended up paying $20 total to get into this party. What was I supposed to do, lie and say I had nothing and make us all go home? It was my first time going to a frat and I had already walked so far, I didn’t want the night to end like that.

So I got into this party, and at first it seemed really cool. It was dark and crowded, but there were Christmas lights everywhere and a strobe light flashing in the corner, and there were guys behind a bar serving beer from a keg. As I looked around I saw yet another line, or rather a line-shaped mob, this one waiting for the bar. My friends and I got in line, and I asked some people closer to the front how long they’d been waiting.

“Thirty minutes.”


They weren’t kidding. Despite the fact that there were two guys using two separate kegs to serve beer into people’s cups, this line moved slower than shit. I mean literally slower than shit, and shit is pretty slow most of the time. I ended up waiting for half an hour like they said.

As I stood, I began to notice where I actually was. I was underground, in a dirty cellar with spray paint on the walls and sticks and dirt at my feet. There were huge metal pipes everywhere, most likely heaters and coolers and warmers and I-don’t-know-what-the-fuck’s. I was too tall for this cellar, and as a metal pipe suddenly made friends with my forehead the level of fun began to drop. My head hurt, the line was taking forever, I somehow couldn’t see my friends anymore, and people who had gotten beer kept getting back in line immediately at the front, without being noticed by the servers. It was pissing me off, but I was a freshman and I wasn’t about to cause any trouble. So, I waited patiently until I finally made it to the front. Then even at the bar I had to get the attention of the beer-pouring bro so that he’d fill my cup instead of other people’s cups. Eventually I got the beer and fought my way out of the crowd, struggling not to spill. Moments later I found one of the girls I’d paid 5 bucks for, and the first thing I hear is:

“Oh Mike, you got a beer? Can I have some? I didn’t want to wait in line.”

Fuck. That.

I drank that whole cup in an instant, and it was nowhere near worth the trouble I went through to get it. I wasn’t waiting in that line again, so I looked around at what else the frat had to offer. There were three drunk girls dancing in the corner to the crappy homemade rap music playing, and everyone else was standing around in the darkness talking to the one or two people they’d come with. Some people were just doing nothing. I had to pee, so I tried to look for a bathroom, but there were none to be found, so I walked upstairs into the actual house. It was barren, nobody was up there except this one guy smoking a cigarette with his face leaning into the wall. It looked like a normal house, if that normal house had been robbed, got engulfed in a hurricane, and was then abandoned and spray painted on by neighborhood kids. It was disgusting. I gave up my search for a bathroom; even if I’d found one I’m sure there would have been a dead hooker in the bathtub. I went downstairs, found all my friends, and we immediately agreed to leave.

That was the first and only time I’ve ever been to a frat house. Maybe others are better, or maybe that particular party just sucked, but it made me never want to go back.

That party last night was awfully crazy.


2 Responses to “FrΔts Sμck”

  1. Girls at UMass Browell get in for free. Just sayin’.

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