The Pizza Guy Hall of Fame Chapter 12: Reindeer Games (part 3/3)

Then without excitement or caution, he said, “If you want
I’ll put your name down next time I’m over there.” I felt a
fluid warmth escape from within my core, like when you bite into
that gum with the juice in the center. Balloons of possibility
floated up into my brain. To Dustin it was just the machinations
of the universe droning away. Components in the system doing
what components do. To me it was possibility.

I told him I’d think about it.

The week before rush started I admitted to myself that I
had already decided that I wanted to rush. Not that I actually
wanted in or anything. That’s why I waited until the spring and
I only rushed Dustin’s frat. I wouldn’t have rushed any others,
even if one of the other eighty had invited me (Okay, there
probably weren’t eighty, but get over it, there were a lot, and
it’s a comedic figure of speech.) I just wanted to see what all
the fuss was about, that’s all. I mean, how could I go through
college without- …Okay, fine! What I really wanted was to go to
girl filled parties and feel accepted by something. There I said
it, wrote it. As much as I wish differently, my character was
less developed than I knew it to be. I still craved outside
validation so much that I was willing to seek it from those I
instinctively despised, because they got chicks and I didn’t. I
wished I was more abnormal like Rose. He was immune to such
viral infections of character.

On the first night, I went to the Sig Ep house without
telling anyone where I was going. I didn’t want to have to
explain to Rose, Gary, Chuck, or anyone else why I was
voluntarily subjecting myself to a system that I had previously
described as being “for people that can’t make friends on their
own”, “for guys that can’t find their own identity”, and “for
the weak minded.” That may be the case for some frats, but I
had a hunch that the Sig Eps were different. I could feel it.

When I got home from the Sig Ep house that night, I ran
into Rose as I was going into my room. “Where were you? We were
playing some mean Ping Pong in the basement.”

“I went to check out the Sig Eps.” I said as though it was
nothing. Rose was confused. The shame I felt should’ve tipped me
off that something wasn’t right with my decision. I added,
“Dustin invited me.”

“You’re rushing?” Rose said, smiling. It was the smile of
someone who knows your secret.

“…Yeah. Who knows? Maybe they’re cool. They seemed alright
tonight. Dustin’s a Sig Ep.”

“You’re such a Jack-ass!” He laughed at me. “Whyyyy,
Marflake?” I thought I’d just told him. I guess he wanted the
real reasons though.

“I don’t know. Dustin invited me. You have to be invited
for spring rush.” What a cowardly defense I had.

“Whatever. You better let me come to your stupid parties.”
He said, as he followed me into my room.

He had enough character to avoid caving to the system, but
he wasn’t so noble as to pass up the chance to meet hot girls,
or at least stare at them. He continued his cross examination,

“So how was it?”

“It was alright. Just talked to a bunch of guys.” I
answered him like a hostile witness.

“You gonna go back tomorrow?”

“If they invite me.” I said. Spring rush was one week.
According to the system, that was more than sufficient time to
determine whether or not you wanted to be someone’s brother. At
the end of each night’s visit to the frat house, you went back
to your dorm room and waited for them to call. If you got a
call, you went back again the next night. The same thing
applied until Friday night when instead of calling, they came
and knocked on your door. But they only came if they were giving
you a bid.

The phone rang. Rose looked at me, “Good luck, Marflake. I
hope it works out.” He turned and left the room. I picked up the
phone. It was the Sig Eps inviting me back.

They invited me back to their most honorable house every
night that week. I was feeling good. I was being accepted.
Whenever Gary, Rose, or Chuck checked in about how it was going,
I could hardly hide my childish pride. I was infected with a
rapidly growing conceit. I was going to be accepted to something
by which they’d been rejected. Turns out, I was cool. However,
Chuck was quick to remind me that he was invited back the entire
week as well. That was true, but this was different. This was
Spring rush. Actually, logically, that meant nothing, but it
didn’t matter. I was cool.

My future brothers seemed alright. I didn’t feel like I hit
it off with all the guys, but most seemed to take to my charms.
By the end of the week, I was thinking that I’d been too quick
to judge the Greek system. It had a lot of good things to offer,
and they had cool lofts in their rooms. I’d been called back
each night and I was about to reap the benefits. I was already
designing a loft in my head. It would have shelves and a hidden
drawer. Boy was it going to be great!

On Friday afternoon, I saw Dustin. I asked him what he
thought my chances were of getting a knock on the door that
evening.

“If you don’t get a bid, I’ll knock on your door with a
Snickers.” He said.

“What?” I was confused.

He smiled at me, “If you don’t get in, I’ll bring you a
Snickers. They really satisfy.”

I thought about it and then said, “A Snickers would be
good. …But seriously, do you think you’ll be bringing one.” I
wasn’t letting the poor guy off the hook.

“I don’t know. A lot of guys think you’re alright. I’m just
a pledge. I’m just finding out how it works.” Dustin stared at
the wall. He seemed a bit troubled. It was hard to read him, but
I knew him well enough to know something was wrong.

Unfortunately, I was too wrapped up in my own troubles to care.
I replayed his response in my head. That’s good, a lot of
guys thought I was alright. But was “a lot” most or was it some?
Furthermore, I thought unbuttered toast was alright, but I
didn’t ‘like it’ or want to be its brother. Was I buttered or
unbuttered toast? I fished for more information by saying,
“Yeah, I didn’t think I’d fit in, but they seem pretty cool. It
would kind of suck to have gone through the whole week and not
get a bid.”

He nodded cryptically. He could have been hiding that I was
already in, or that it was unlikely I’d get a bid, or just be
his normal cryptic self.

I decided to take a more direct approach. “What do you
think of rush, now that you’re on the other side?” I asked.

The muscles in his face tightened a bit. “I don’t know.
…It’s not cool. ….I don’t like it. It’s dumb. I don’t know about
frats. You sure you want this?” He seemed to be wrestling with
new realities.

“What do you mean?” I was on a wave of possible social
acceptance and I didn’t want to be knocked off of it.

“Some of my brothers… I mean, they’re supposed to be my
brothers, like brothers, you know…” Dustin may have had an
extensive vocabulary, but like me, his mouth rarely had access
to it. He continued, “…But- I don’t know. They can just be
jerks. I guess brothers can be jerks though. I don’t know, I
only have a sister.”

“Are they that mean to pledges?” I asked. I wasn’t getting
what he was trying to say.

“No. Pledging’s really not a big deal. It’s just a pain,
you know. Raking leaves and picking up beer cans.”
I expected him to elaborate, but as was often the case, he
didn’t. I’d have to dig it out. So I asked, “So what is it?”
He shifted gears and said, “I don’t know. Maybe it’ll be
different for you.” I took this as a very positive clue, a
presupposition that I’d be dealing with the same things. Then he
shifted back into trying to express what was swirling around his
head. He added, “Guys can just say some real mean shit.”

“You mean, when you pick who to invite back?” I was trying
to keep him focused on the picking. Surely, the mean things were
not being said about me.

“Yeah… We all sit in a room and they read the names-” He
stopped, as though censoring himself. Then he added, “I think I
might not live in the house next year. I’m supposed to. I don’t
know. There’s some guys that can be not so cool. …But they’re my
brothers.” He was stuck on this brother concept. His conception
of what constituted a brother was coming into conflict with the
realities of what constituted a fraternity brother.

Dustin’s character was indirectly under attack. He was
witnessing more of this curious thing called human behavior, but
this time it was a puzzle to him. A carrot had been dangled in
front of him, just like it was dangling in front of me now. Like
everyone else, when he got a bid, he felt rewarded, special, and
accepted, but now things were changing. He was discovering
something. The more hooks they have in you, the harder it is to
tear away. That’s why pledges are put though heaven and hell together.

He’d gone through a lot this semester, had a lot of fun,
put up with a lot, and shared things on the nights they put him
in a closet with the other pledges and were kept awake for hours
on end. He’d raked a lot of leaves, drank a lot of booze, and
made out with some girls. Each of these was a hook, and each
hook was a bond of brotherhood. Each bond strengthened a belief
that it was all righteous and worthwhile. Now he was realizing
that the more the belief was strengthened, the more you became
privy to the ugliness.

As my uncle would emphatically state after he’d had too
much to drink at the Marflake family picnic, “See, that’s how
they getch ya’!” Then he’d ask me to pull his finger.

I didn’t understand Dustin’s crisis. I was blinded by the
carrot. I was a young man with a paralyzing fear of rejection,
and I was on the precipice of acceptance. I was so close I could
taste it. I was a shark and there was blood in the water, and
the blood smelled like social validation. If I stopped now, I’d
die.

“So you think we’ll be fraternity brothers.” I asked. I had
one thing on my mind.

“I don’t know. A lot of the guys like you.” He’d already
said this, but now he used the word “like.” Still not definitive
though. Why’d it have to be Dustin’s brain I was picking? It was
like trying to solve an ancient riddle.

“Does it have to be unanimous?” I asked.
His face tightened again, “Different guys have different
votes. It’s not just- Actually, I don’t think I can say. It’s
fucked up, the rules.”

My ego dissected his every word and movement, or lack
thereof.

He laughed and repeated himself again, “I’ll bring you a
Snickers if you don’t get in. How’s that?’ He laughed harder,
sucking air in between his teeth, “Yeah, a Snickers bar!” Now,
he laughed more spastically. He often laughed like a spaz at
things hilarious only to himself.

“That’s cool. It’s not that big a deal anyway. I just
wanted to see what rush was like.” I said. I wished I was lying.
I was in too deep. At this point, lack of acceptance meant
rejection. The first hooks were already under my skin.
I went to the Sig Ep house that night. I’d already met most
of the guys so I ended up talking to a few that I’d already met.
They seemed glad to see me. Most said they were sick of meeting
people. The new guys I met that night didn’t seem that
interested in talking either.

At times, there were group situations: a group shooting at
the pool table, a group watching TV, a group around the soda and
snack table. I wasn’t good in groups. I felt awkward, intrusive,
and excluded. I couldn’t help but be nervous. If there was an
awkward pause in a conversation or a joke fell flat, I’d start
to judge myself, and there’s not a defendant in the world that
would be happy to see me.

I talked to Dustin for a few minutes while I was there. We
drank soda out of plastic cups. I drank a lot of soda that week.
Dustin wasn’t very talkative. He never was though. How’d he get
in without being able to hold a conversation? He was Dustin,
that’s how. I wished that I played guitar. I asked him if he had
his Snickers ready. He didn’t laugh. He just said, “No… No
Snickers.”

Finally, it was time to go. I went back to my dorm room and
waited. And waited. Overall, I was oddly confident. I was
feeling good. I was happy with myself. I told myself that no
matter what happened, I’m glad I did it. I met some people, and
they liked me. I was proud of myself for expanding my
boundaries. I went into what was, for me, a scary situation, a
group of new people, and I came out alive. I was a winner.
Besides, I had to be in. Why would they have me come back every
night and not give me a bid? I was going to be a Sig Ep.
After an hour and a half of pretending to not be waiting,
there was a knock on my door. This was it. This was the bid,
they were coming. I opened the door.

It was Dustin. He held out a snickers bar.