My Recruitment Counselor Threw Wine On Me At A Frat Party


Let me start by saying that I hate confrontation. I do not do well in high drama situations. That being said, the weekend following recruitment and Bid Day at my university is, as expected, a complete shitshow. My freshman year, in particular, was out of control. I lost my favorite bikini top that weekend. My roommate lost her birth control prescription. We found both nailed to the wall in a fraternity house three months later. I tell you this only to establish the anarchy amongst which this all went down.

It was the faithful post-Bid Day weekend at my school, and I had just put back like six cups of wine at the pregame. So, naturally, I immediately needed to pee when I got to the party. My roommate (who accepted a bid to the same chapter as I did) agreed to brave the downstairs bathroom with me because “OMG we were like, sisters now” so we pushed our way through the house into the nastiest bathroom I’d ever seen.

I was hover-squatting over the toilet and she was texting a possible hookup when somebody slammed the door open and turned the lights out. I immediately started to panic, mostly because my pants were down and I was feeling very vulnerable. I heard some high pitched squealing and a strong-smelling liquid flew over the stall door and hit my head, lap, and my friend’s legs. The door closed, and after a few seconds of shock I gathered that I was in a pitch-black bathroom with my shorts around my ankles covered in what smelled a lot like wine.

My friend stumbled over to the door and turned on the lights. I tried my best to pull up my pants and figure out what the fuck had just happened. We were both covered in red wine. At that moment, one of the other girls who lived in our dorm burst through the door and told us she had just seen our Rho Chi running out of the bathroom. You know, the Rho Chi recruitment counsler who had just helped me find my ~home~? Yeah. That bitch.

Here’s the context: our dorm had coed floors, and I had begun casually hooking up with an attractive guy who lived down the hall from me almost immediately after we moved in. What can I say? I work fast, and this was beyond convenient. Whoops. In addition to myself he had also been texting numerous ladies around campus. I didn’t know this, and I honestly didn’t give a shit. But apparently the junior who had served as my recruitment counselor was one of the girls he was chatting up. She found out about our arrangement, and she. was. pissed. I guess nobody had bothered to tell her about the rest of his fucking roster.

So, there I was with my hair and underwear soaked in wine in the middle of a frat house party, and she was nowhere to be found. I had no idea what was going on or that any of this had to do with my sexcapades. As you can imagine, I was fucking irate. I looked around for a few minutes for her and her cohorts until someone told me they had already left the party. I accepted that I wouldn’t be confronting her and that I had a choice to make: let her ruin my night or continue to rage with my new best friends.

After a few hours and a procession of free Jell-o shots, we decided to make our way back to the dorm. I was drunk but not wrecked, which meant I was hunting for peen. I knew of only one available and made my way down the hall to my knight in shining armor. He had just showed up after spending the night pounding whiskey (match made in heaven) so we proceeded to make some mistakes and pass out shortly after.

The next thing I knew, someone was yelling his name and pounding on the door. I waited for the person to give up and leave, but the late-night visitor showed no signs of surrender and homeboy was not waking up. I managed to crawl over his unconscious body, locate one of his t-shirts off the floor and make my way to the door. I swung it open and standing on the other side was, you guessed it, little miss wine stain Rho Chi.

I guess what it all comes down to is not to fight over a guy. But if a bitch insists on starting one anyway, make sure she sees you naked in his room when she’s trying to make a move. I doubt there is any revenge that feels better than that.

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