I'll admit it. I fell victim to "rush fever" again this year after I saw all the excitement that rush was bringing to everyone else around campus. Those who know me best were a little surprised to hear this given the experience I had with rush only one year ago. But for some reason, I felt ready to jump head first back into the waters this year-arm floaties and all.
And even though I may not have had a fairy tale ending to my rushing endeavors last year, I think I did learn a lot from them. I learned how to converse better with strangers. I learned more about the types of people I fit in around. I learned that "80s Night" is no excuse for a guy to show up to the party wearing tight purple spandex and a scrunchie. That said, I didn't appreciate how that group of jerks decided to take it upon themselves to throw me out like that.
But what I also learned is that a lot of the common things that people think will help them succeed at rush usually don't work out as expected. For one, loading up on creatine the week before so that you'll go in there looking buff isn't as much of an "automatic in" as some may say. Telling people that you're the guy trying to start up Duke's first-ever Parcheesi Club doesn't impress everyone. And finally, no matter how desperate you are, it's an apparent no-no to show up to a semiformal with the stir-fry lady from the Marketplace.
On a side note, if she agrees to go with you for 20 bucks, do not assume that she means food points. It can lead to a nasty falling out.
Although I was rejected from every frat on campus again this year-apparently "Spandex Boy" couldn't shake his reputation from last year's damn 80s party-I finally think I've figured things out. The real secret to rush is not to base too much on what happens on bid day.
Was I upset when I didn't get a bid? Sure. Did I cry? Maybe. Did I give up on life? Well yes, but not because of that. Did I allow myself an appropriate amount of time to let a few expletives fly? Absolutely. But other than that, I shrugged it off and started moving on.
And while it wasn't clear to me at the time, it turns out that had rush not gone the way it did, I wouldn't be where I am today.
You see, when those guys decided to throw me out of that party that night, what they didn't realize was that I was currently under the impression that I had chlamydia (long story). And even though that turned out to be a misdiagnosis of sorts, I was still taking a very potent, psycho-neurological medication, legal only in Honduras and a small part of Kosovo. When mixed with red punch, the two evidently become a powerful hallucinogen.
And so, as I was riding on the shoulders of the guys hauling me toward the exit, I was under the notion that I was being carried off the field after scoring the winning touchdown in Super Bowl XVII. Once they dropped me outside, I went into my touchdown celebration dance, screaming, "That's right baby, don't mess with the Redskins!"
Even though I've never played organized football, I apparently have some end zone moves like you wouldn't believe. The show I was putting on caught the attention of a few people passing by, one of whom happened to be the recruiting captain for the Dancing Devils. The rest is history.
Point is, it's easy for me now that I'm living the dream as an up-and-coming break dance phenom to look back on "80s Night" as being the start of it all. At the time, however, it was hard to see how anything positive could come from being thrown out on my ass from a third-floor window. Life may take twists and turns that don't have a clear meaning in sight. Just keep going.
On an unrelated note, I really am trying to start up that Parcheesi Club. DSG says an organization must have at least 10 members to be recognized, meaning we need nine more. E-mail for further inquiry.
Nick Alexander is a Pratt sophomore. His column runs every other Tuesday.
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