1. Lack of sleep gives you hideous bags under your eyes.
Between rounds of mock conversations, chants, committee work, and all the other shit your sorority puts you through, there is little time for sleep. You’ll catch yourself daydreaming of the cushy goodness of your bed, only to snap back to reality for yet another round of practice house tours. Before you know it, you start to look like a hungover Joan Rivers, with bags so dark that the Walgreens clerk will ask if you got mugged. Slap some concealer on that shit and smile. The PNMs (and more importantly, your recruitment chair) can smell your desperation.
2. Repeatedly bouncing up and down while reciting pointless chants causes achy knees.
You’re only a few days in, but you’ve bounced so often that you’re starting to feel like a crazed Barbie version of a Jack in the Box. At this point, the words you’re saying don’t even make sense to you anymore. All you know is that every joint in your body hurts, and you suddenly understand how your grandma feels when she bitches about her arthritis. All you can do is pop another Advil and make a mental note to call Nana to apologize when this torturous week is over.
3. Your hectic, jam-packed schedule gives you chronic migraines.
Your recruitment chair has morphed into a crazed monster, convinced she can cuss her way into being the most presentable and desired house. She knows what she’s doing, and while she ultimately contributes more to the house than your uninvolved status ever will, you can’t help but notice that your beloved sorority house has temporarily turned into the fiery pits of hell. A week of continuous routine and chaos will wreak havoc on your brain, providing you with blinding migraines that no amount of caffeine or pain killers could even attempt to contain. The worst part is that even though you have the headaches of an 80-year-old woman, you sure as shit don’t have the free time of a retired lady.
4. Talking to multiple rounds of similar girls causes brief memory loss.
Let’s face it. After the fifth round, they all start to look alike. Sure, every once in a while, you’ll get a weirdo with purple eyeliner and a decorative scrunchie, but for the most part, every PNM looks like the same twiggy bitch off of a Pinterest pin. It’s so damn loud that you have to pretend to hear what the clueless bitch is saying, and then you have to make an assessment after she leaves–but you can hardly remember what her name is the second you get bumped onto the next PNM. Was is Katie? No, it was something weird, like Jasmine or Esmerelda maybe? Soon enough, you can hardly remember what your own name is, or what purpose your life serves other than recruiting the perfect group of freshman for your chapter. You basically have the memory capacity of your drunk alter ego, but without the fun of her carefree nature and sloppy hookups.
5. The entire week generally makes you mentally unstable.
The ups and downs of recruitment are insane. You are #blessed to be able to spend an entire week with the group of girls you treasure most in the world. But you hate them all. You get to be a crucial part in determining the future values and characteristics of your sorority as a whole. But the process makes you want to blow your brains out. You’re one big, nervous wreck, but you have to maintain the posture and class of a confident sorority girl. By the end of the week, you don’t even know who you are outside of the crazy world of rush. You’re insanely disoriented, but that’s okay. You just have to remember 1. how important your role is to your chapter, and 2. syllabus week–and the glorious binge drinking that it entails–is right around the corner.
Nice Move451
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Lucky Jo
Lucky Jo is a former and current TSM writer who likes her men how she likes her coffee: way too hot and unforgivably bitter. She graduated from the University of Missouri in 2016, proving that C's do in fact get degrees. She now spends her days working for a social media marketing agency, hiking with her dachshund, and trying to bring back the scrunchie. Hate mail and goat memes can be sent to lucyjmulvihill@gmail.com.
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