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Student
remembers why he never goes to fraternity parties after hosting
one I came home on Friday night to find a horde of tube-topped girls pushing their way into my house like a rebel army storming the palace gates. The bass rattled the windows of the house across the street, and through the windows I saw a throng of people under an eerie red light gyrating like souls in some forgotten circle of Dante’s hell. In the interest of promoting campus life and collecting a $500 security deposit, we had agreed to host a frat party. I am not a connoisseur of frat parties, and the arrival of one in my home reminded me why. First of all, of the approximately 2,300 people present, I did not recognize a single face. I think most of them were rented from a party supply company as extras to make the party, and the frat hosting it, appear happening. The rest were high school kids, some of whom prepared for the big night by shaving for the first time. Once I pushed my way upstairs, I went to the bathroom to get ready for bed. On the way I passed a girl frantically jiggling the door handle of the room that has the women’s bathroom sign on it, which of course is not actually the women’s bathroom. The real women’s bathroom is behind a door with two guys’ names on it. Their room is behind the door with the women’s bathroom sign. Somebody switched the two signs weeks ago to be funny. But these two guys are still living behind the women’s bathroom sign in the desperate hope that it will lure girls to their room. This would be a great plan, except that any girls who do fall for it are either about to vomit or pee. Inside the bathroom, a girl, who possibly may have consumed some alcoholic beverages earlier, was standing in front of the mirror in a zebra-striped blouse, waving her arms and saying in a voice not unlike nails on a blackboard, “Look! I'm like a bird! I'm flying! I’m so totally like a bird! Look!” It is a miracle that this girl’s friends have allowed her to live this long. Women use the bathroom for four things during a party — going to the bathroom, applying makeup/adjusting undergarments, gossiping, and leaning over a toilet while a friend holds their ponytail out of the way, crying, “Oh [insert name of friend], I’m so sorry (blech), you’re the best, I (blech) looooove you.” There has to be some biological basis for the difference between men and women’s reactions to a nauseous person. Women will trip over themselves to get water, rub your back and create a supportive, nurturing environment conducive to spewing. Guys can also be considerate, but in a different way. When I would travel as a kid with my boy cousins and one of us got carsick, my cousins would lean over, place a concerned hand on your arm, and say reassuringly, “Whatever you do, don’t think about warm mayonnaise.” Anyway, the party eventually wound to a close, leaving behind the warm glow of memories and minor property damage. From what I could tell, it seemed like people had a pretty good time. For some, it might have been the best night of their lives. At least until prom. Corinne
Purtill is a columnist for The Stanford Daily at Stanford University.
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