Frats by D. Snider

Author:D. Snider [Snider, Dee]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Red Penguin Books

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The winter months brought a lot of fraternity “brew-ups.” These were weekly parties held at various frat members' houses—whoever’s parents were out or gone for the weekend, usually Big John’s—with a lot of drinking and pot smoking. These gatherings usually got too rowdy and ended up in drunken/stoned behavior and fighting. The fighting was not so much between DZO members—though that happened often enough—but with other fraternities who tried to crash the parties or with other frat members the Delta guys found when they went cruising around looking for trouble after the brew-ups. I initially resisted going to these gatherings at all but quickly found out that if you were in Delta Zeta Theta and wanted to stay in Delta Zeta Theta, you’d damn well better show up at these gatherings. At first, I tried to avoid over-drinking and partying and steer clear of the wanton violence. But slowly, inexorably, I found myself pulled into the lifestyle, indulging more and more. It wasn’t good.

The average brew-up was held on a Friday or Saturday night. Everybody would get there around eight o’clock, and the members who were old enough to buy beer would pick up a few cases on the way over; everybody was expected to chip in.

The minute the beer got there, the membership clamored for the cans and bottles like they had just walked out of the Sahara Desert and were dying of thirst.

There were usually 25 to 30 guys in attendance—no women allowed with the exception of the occasional girl or two who were willing and liked to party—so there was no dress code or social etiquette of any kind. All in all, it was just a bunch of testosterone-fueled teenage guys with raging hormones out to raise some hell and have a good time.

At the very first party I attended, I tried to avoid getting pulled into the debauchery.

“New Kid, here you go!” someone said, offering me a beer.

“Thanks, man; I’m good,” I responded, trying to sound as matter-of-fact as possible.

“You won’t share a drink with your fraternal brotherhood?” Tank asked suspiciously, and a little too loudly so everyone would hear.

All conversation ceased, and every eye in the room turned toward me. This was as dramatic a question as any presented during my DZO interview. There was only one acceptable answer, and I knew exactly what I had to say.

“Of course, I’ll share a beer with my brothers, Tank. Let me have one!”

Still not a word was said, and no one took their eyes off me until I cracked open that can and took a good long swig. Only then did the party kick back into gear.

On most nights, after the beer came pot; and after the pot came the hard liquor. It was an impossibly slippery slope once you caved to having that first drink. But what were the choices? With DZO, you were either all in, or you were out. I still needed to be in. But of the women, I stood firm and did not partake.

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