There is no way for me to explain sorority Formal Recruitment, or “Rush Week,” while still even slightly maintaining my sanity. To put in simple terms, it’s a bunch of college girls running around Greektown, lining up in front of houses in the blazing heat while large groups of females burst out of windows and doors when a buzzer sounds, yelling and singing at the top of their lungs.
It basically sounds like something out of a horror movie.
I was one of those girls. Now, after going through rush, I feel I can face anything. Then again, my rush experience was a little different than most girls’.
On the second day of rush, I got food poisoning, which is the best thing you can probably have while being stuck in total strangers’ houses, having to excuse yourself every two seconds to destroy their bathrooms.
It’s also great when your medication falls out of your purse while you are standing in front of one of these houses and the girl next to you has to hand it back. To that random girl: Thanks for not laughing in front of me like I would have done. You go, Glen Coco.
Anyway, at one of the houses, they have a special ceremony as part of the week where they present you with a pin. It’s made into a pretty big deal — you proceed up an aisle after your name is read, with music playing in the background and “rushees” lining either side. I heard my name and started struttin’ my stuff up this little aisle they had going on in the middle of the room.
I should probably explain a little further. For those who don’t know me, I’m actually a giant. For real. Remember that one girl in middle school who towered over all the other kids and stood in the back for every picture? Yeah, that’s me. It doesn’t really bother me; I figure once the apocalypse happens and zombies rule the earth, I’ll be able to climb shit that all the shorties can’t reach and get all the best cans of food on the top shelves. Take that, bitches.
I digress.
My point was that I rarely wear heels. Because when I do, I think I’m around 8 feet tall. Plus, I’m kind of lacking in the foot-eye coordination department. But hey, who really cares?
This particular day, however, I was rockin’ the heels. With a big grin on my face, I continued on my merry way to the front of the room.
That’s when shit hit the fan.
Looking back, I can almost picture the scene in a horrible slow-motion sequence. A room filled with people watching, a group of girls at the front about to present a pin to me and my right foot catching on one of the chair sheets (I didn’t know exactly how to describe it. It was some kind of weird tablecloth for the chair. Why exactly does a chair need a tablecloth anyway? I didn’t see any food. I would have known if there was food. Shit, now I’m hungry).
The next thing I saw was the floor. Pressed against my face. The next thing I heard was a collective gasp. Followed by a long silence.
_“Uhhh… hmmm. Well then. Do I… Should I… I guess I’ll…”_ I thought, still laying on the floor.
I slowly peeled myself away from my hot makeout with the floor, hoping it wasn’t too scandalous for the 60 or so girls staring at me.
A girl rushed up to me and walked me out of the aisle. She assured me it was not embarrassing at all and that she had _almost_ tripped this one time back in, like, 3rd grade.
Don’t you just love nice, perfect people? Especially when they try to make you feel better after a massive, public face-plant?
Surprisingly, I actually ended up in a sorority that I absolutely love and adore. Not so surprisingly, it was not the one from the story. For all of you who are actually hoping for some kind of heartfelt message, I believe everything happens for a reason. You will end up where you are meant to be, and no matter what happens, you have to look at things in a positive light.
Thus, my faceplant was divine intervention. Basically.
