I have been to one frat party. One was plenty.

I was in college, as one would expect.  However, I was older than the average college student.  It had taken me five years to get through junior college.  No, I was not extra stupid.  I was, however, extra busy.  I worked full time and attended classes when I could.  I went to summer school.  I couldn’t take evening classes because I worked in a bar/club/pool hall, but I did take 7am classes.  I certainly couldn’t do it now, but back when I was in my early 20s I didn’t have much trouble working until 2am or later and making it to 7am classes on time.  And I was a drinker back then.  Ah, youth.

So I was in my mid- rather than early-20s at university, where I completed my upper-division coursework to get my bachelor’s degree.  I lived in Oakland with my boyfriend (later husband and now the Ex) and commuted up Telegraph Avenue to get to UC Berkeley on my Honda Elite scooter.  I also worked, both on and off campus.  I didn’t have a “typical” university experience, which would have been when I was younger, single, and living on campus, with spare time for socializing.

Because I was older, attached, and living off campus with little time on my hands, I tended not to socialize much.  I talked to people with whom I had classes, but usually only when we were forced to do group projects.  There were few people I called friend, and they tended to be very studious.  During the two years I was at university I went to only one party.

One of my on campus jobs was for the university police department.  I wore a police uniform, complete with polyester pants.  I also wore a police belt, but did not carry a gun.  Rather, I had a Maglite and a radio.  I could hit someone over the head with the battery-heavy flashlight and then call in to the real police, should I come to any danger.  My job involved walking people to and from campus after dusk, and patrolling the dorms and the stadium overnight.  Oftentimes we were paired up for our patrols.

Two of my coworkers with whom I had been partnered on several occasions belonged to the same fraternity.  Despite that, I liked them.  When we patrolled together we talked a lot to help pass the time.  I had gotten to know and like the frat boys before I knew they were frat boys.  I had a dim view of fraternities and the people who belonged to them so when I found out these two guys I actually liked belonged to a fraternity I was a little surprised.  I told them as much.

Both of them, both individually and together, worked to convince me that fraternities weren’t so bad, and that they weren’t the only two nice guys who belonged to one.  I was incredulous.  As a means to get me to realize not all frat boys were shitheads, they invited me to a party at their house.  I figured I should give a frat party a chance and agreed to go.

The party was on a Saturday night.  The Ex couldn’t go because he worked late stocking shelves at the Emeryville Trader Joe’s.  I donned a cute plaid dress with bobby socks and a pair of Hush Puppies loafers, hopped on my scooter, and went to the party.  I parked in front of the frat house and went inside.

The party was just getting started; I should have arrived at least an hour later.  I found my friends, who introduced me to a few people and showed me to the drinks table.  There were plenty of cups, lots of ice, and just one kind of liquor, er, liqueur, Aftershock (red).  I made myself a drink and sipped on it just a bit.  Aftershock tastes like shit, but I didn’t want to walk around empty-handed and alone.

My two friends, as hosts of the party, couldn’t spend all of their time entertaining me, and I didn’t expect them to do so, but I was hoping there would be more to drink so I could get a nice buzz.  I recalled that my coworkers had mentioned that they smoked pot, so I found them and asked if they would share with me.  It was almost 15 years ago and everyone who attends Berkeley has to smoke pot.

My friends gathered some of their buddies and we made our way to one of the many, many bedrooms in the frat house.

[To be continued ….]

I swear.  True story.

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