POV: You’re getting hit on by an econ major in wine-stained chinos
BY ANNABEL MARSHALL — almarshall@ucdavis.edu
School has opened up, but you probably should hold off from attending a massive gathering in the poorly-ventilated, pathogenic-mold-breeding hellscape that is a frat house. Here’s a walk-through of what it’s like to hold you over:
Enter. There’s a girl in the doorway. Eighty percent of her body weight is being held up by two friends, and the other 20% is on a pair of heels that are as structurally sound as a card tower. She “loooooovvveeesss” your hair, which is really nice until you realize she’s been complimenting everyone’s hair with the same reverent enthusiasm.
Move through micro-atmospheres of weed smoke, Bath & Body Works perfume and vomit fumes. Pass a horde of applied chemistry majors seriously discussing how they could take a bear in a fight. They all think they could.
Make it to the drinks table, which is about eight miles away from the front door. If you drink, take a cup of what scientists would typically term “virulent,” “polluting” and “gross af.”
Venture onto the dance floor with your friends. Someone in the crowd has a computer and is typing an essay over their head. Everything is sticky. Pretend not to notice the guy from your engineering class. Have some fun.
Now you will meet five different types of drunks in relatively quick succession. The order may vary, but you will not be granted escape until you have defeated them all.
One. The girl who predicts the date and method of your death with 100% confidence. Try not to let it get to your head next time you take the bus. Use a laugh/back away combo.
Two. Guy who is clearly a grad student trying to blend in. The full beard and correct use of Latin locutions are giving you away, dude. Put down the off-brand White Claw and go write your thesis. Cheat code: mention that you were born in 2001 and he’ll find a reason to leave.
Three. The DJ. Yeah, they got an aspiring DJ, and he’s just taking a break to get a drink. He’ll offer you his vape, which is Rainbow Marshmello Key Lime Pie flavor. He’s the cousin of a friend of someone in the frat. He’s drenched in sweat. Which is crazy because all he did was put his Spotify on shuffle. He doesn’t even have Premium. Every four minutes or so the crowd has to vibe to a commercial for Popeyes. He can only be appeased with a fake Snapchat exchange.
Four. The guy who clearly has never been to a frat party in his life. Be excited for him. He’s living out some high school fantasy, and his ghastly hangover will be something akin to a religious experience that will convince him to switch his major to art history and finally be happy.
Five. Someone who is dressed exactly like you. You two turn to look at each other at the same time and sheepishly smile. You step right to pass them, but they step left at the same time. You both try to speak at the same time, but neither of you can hear the other. It’ll be about 40 more seconds before you realize you’re talking to a mirror in the hallway.
Have your friend group decide to leave and then stay for another hour. Repeat twice.
Oh, and you should probably say goodbye to the guy who invited you. Try an apathetic wave into the palpitating mass of arms and legs. That’ll do. Your Uber will be $40.
Written by: Annabel Marshall — almarshall@ucdavis.edu
Disclaimer: (This article is humor and/or satire, and its content is purely fictional. The story and the names of “sources” are fictionalized.)
