With midterms in full bloom, I grabbed my MacBook, a cup of coffee, and nestled myself quite comfortably into the cozy couch right beside the frat fireplace. As I began to sip on my fraternal cup of joe, I popped my headphones in and hit play to a playlist on Spotify called “Peaceful Piano.”
I could feel the caffeine running its course through my veins as I still could not explain the history of the Mesopotamia area, but I could restate what the girl who got pregnant in high school had to say about the legalization of marijuana on Facebook.
Once I realized that time was not on my side anymore, I hopped back onto the study train tracks. It was at this moment when things began to go well. I was inhaling information faster than that one brother in your house eats food during holiday house dinners.
And just as I was about to enter the state of studying where you actually enjoy the task, I heard five obnoxious knocks on the front door. Even though the area was filled with like-minded procrastinators, no one else seemed to notice the thunderous poundings.
Who would be knocking on our door at 9 p.m. on a school night, I thought to myself, realizing I sounded just like a 43 year-old father of three. It did not take long before my eyes met the many girls who all confidently talked in their recess voices right beyond the door. As soon as they saw someone notice their existence, they began to cheer. One girl was so ecstatic, she broke out in a little dance move that I'm sure was a hit at her older cousin’s wedding when she was little, but not as a freshman in college.
“We are doing our sorority scavenger hunt and we need to take a photo of you with your shirt off," the group of girls simultaneously demanded.
“The spring break body is still in development, ladies,” I insecurely responded. I thought the witty response would induce some laughter, but it only produced a faint sigh from the girl who thought she was at her cousin’s wedding.
"Then give us your boxers,” the girls reciprocated.
Now, this one I would have done, but, unfortunately, that night’s dinner was meatloaf, and yea, you get the picture.
“Hashtag skid marks,” I laughingly said as I pointed to my crotch.
“That’s gross,” one girl blurted out from the back who obviously had better things to do. I was not too offended, though, since her level of disgust towards me equaled mine towards their presence. I could tell my responses were digging at their enthusiasm and I began to feel bad. Scavenger hunts are part of the college experience so who was I to say that they could not excel at it? Thinking back to their first request, I decided I would help them out.
“Still want that no-shirt photo?” I confidently asked.
Without saying a word, the girls whipped out their camera phones as if they saw Ryan Gosling sing a Taylor Swift song while drinking a grande, low-fat latte from Starbucks. I then proceeded to show off my stunning body. Well, you would have thought I had just played them the ending to Marley & Me for most of them began to bawl their eyes out.
“I’m dropping this sorority,” one girl stated. “I can’t be in IU’s Greek life knowing this disgusting person is part of it.” If their cries were not screeching enough, the dropping of the hot popular girl in their PC took it to another whole level.
“Look at what you have done, ya' chubby idiot,” the impatient girl from the back expressed as she led the group away from the front door. Defeated and planning to re-route my spring break plans to Alaska, I slumped back into the couch I once deemed cozy.
I don’t know which was lower at the moment, the caffeine amount that was left in my body or my confidence. Though, like any hardship in life, I refused to let it get the best of me. In an attempt to win them over, I ran to the vacant laundry room, took off my boxers and headed out the front door. As I ran after them without a shirt on and waving my boxers in the air, a cop slowly pulled up.
Without realizing he was around yet, I exhaustingly asked if they still wanted my boxers as I tried to gain control of my breath and the jeans that were slowly sliding down my legs. The collection of women then simultaneously smirked and pointed to something behind me. It was a cop.
In a reflex move to prove innocence, I raised my hands up in fear, only to then cause my jeans to plummet down towards the snow covered sidewalk. One chuckle evolved to two, and before you knew it, everyone was laughing at me.
“Smurf balls!” the cop exclaimed. And it was in that moment that I was hit with two realizations: it is because of the cold weather, and that I cannot stand sorority scavenger hunts.