With the popularity of the short film documentary Rushed on North by Northwestern, I thought it was definitely time that I address half of the appeal of the Greek scene on Northwestern’s campus: the less-than-elusive frat party. I haven’t been to a frat party since winter quarter of my freshman year. Excuse me, “fraternity” party. Apparently they don’t like the use of the word “frat,” but it’s been nearly two years since I’ve gone to one. “Things have changed!” you may tell me. “You should give them a chance again!”
Fuck off. I can categorically say that, without setting foot past Tech in nearly two years, nothing about them has changed and nothing about them will ever change.
Because frat parties suck.
Yes, I’m sure if I lived up North I would be more used to them. Yes, if I was still in a sorority I may have even grown to like them. But even during my year-long tenure in a sorority, I still despised going to frat parties and avoided them like the plague, begging the few girls that I could to come with me to a house or apartment party instead.
Maybe it’s because I have a different standard of parties than my fellow comrades, or maybe I had a bad experience at a frat that I’m attempting to block out of my fragile mind. Either way, bear with me here as I attempt to enumerate my hatred of frat parties.
- A dance party is all well and good, but all too often do frat parties decompose into a tepid cesspool of sweaty bodies, like an amoeba with very little rhythm.
- Don’t even get me started on dry frat parties. I don’t see the point.
- The good thing about house and apartment parties? There are almost always two exits. This proves handy when the police show up and you need to get your underage self away from the scene or when there is a fire. While you kids are all stuck in a frat house basement and pass out from smoke inhalation, I’ll be halfway home. Not to mention trying to get away from creepers. They can only block one exit at a time.
- Speaking of, I feel like the whole point of going to a frat party is because there will be a guaranteed population of gentlemen at your beck and call. However, when every girl this side of the Arch thinks that, it becomes the opposite of a sausage fest (A taco fest? Is that too vulgar?). If I wanted to go to a party where a ton of girls argue over which of the three standing boys they are going to sleep with, I would have gone to all of those dances that the private all-boys school in my town used to have in high school. No, frat parties on this campus are quite the opposite of the stereotypical man mecca.
- Nothing. But. Beer. Save for the few “Around the World” parties or some other randomly generated theme that ensures actual liquor for the first twenty revelers, there are generally nothing but kegs at a frat party. The jungle juice will always run out fast because, as stated before, the high volume of girls means a low volume of non-Bud Light drinks. It’s science. At least at an apartment or house party, you have the sweet hope of getting some liquor in you.
- Minor complaint, but a complaint nonetheless: No party past Hamlin is worth walking to if you’re on South Campus. Especially with the recent crackdown on SafeRide, you’re better off getting drunk at home than attempting to walk up to the fraternity quad.
Seriously, if frat parties ceased to exist, I’d be the first in line to throw a party commemorating their extinction. Although, on second thought, maybe it is a good thing they’re up there. As long as there are frat parties, there will be things for me to complain about, as well as alternate forms of entertainment for those on this campus who have an innate fear of theater and film majors. I’ve met some nice frat boys in my life and I’ve even met nice frat boys that are theater or film majors, but something about these two worlds just doesn’t mix for me. Anything I could do at a frat party, I could easily do down here, in the safety of an apartment. Hell, even in a dorm room.
Although going to a frat party does make for one epic walk of shame.