Greek life: the good, the bad and the ugly 

I remember a project I did in seventh grade on volcanoes. I made a poster board that showed the good, the bad and the ugly of volcanoes. (I scored a 49 out of 50, losing a point only for not labeling my pictures. It was a beautiful poster, Mrs. Harrington, just give me the 50 points.) 

 

I am a long freaking way from middle school science.  

 

Volcanoes can make islands and forge precious gems. They also can destroy civilizations (think Pompeii) and the ash from the volcanic eruptions can cover naturally beautiful landscapes, while the magma can eat through anything in its path.  

 

I haven’t thought about that project in years. (But I’ll always remember Mrs. Harrington.)

 

Until now.  

 

At the beginning of the last three of my college years, I’ve had the privilege of witnessing a volcanic disaster that I like to call: sorority recruitment.  

 

I think that in every aspect of life, we will all come across the good, the bad and the ugly of anything and everything. It’s so easy to see the bad and the ugly in a sorority. I’m going on year four of my Greek life experience and every day I discover a new bad and ugly.  

 

One bad and ugly that remains every year is the chanting. I have been singing these same songs for the past three years. Singing, actually, isn’t the right word to describe these tunes. Screaming is more like it. Pitch goes out the window. Melodies are destroyed. Everyone forgets whether their voice can actually hit those high notes. Our job is to scream.  

 

I wouldn’t be surprised if glass shattered or babies across Guilford County began to cry simultaneously. 

 

There should be a sign on the door of the sorority house, put there as a warning for the girls who are about to walk in.  

 

BEWARE: VOLCANIC ERUPTION IN PROGRESS. 

 

The ones who last are the girls who are molded into the pretty gems.  

 

The ones who don’t end up like Pompeii.  

 

But, you know what they say. (Here is where I would insert a cute anecdote about how the good always follows the bad. Unfortunately, that’s not always how it works.) 

 

After the girls leave the house during recruitment, it’s time for us to pull out our phones, open an app and rank them. 

 

Yes, rank. We talk to girls who want to join our sisterhood and once they’re gone, it’s our job to score the girls we talked to, on a scale of one to five. One being, I need this girl to be in my sorority, I would give up my spot here for her. Five being, she will sparkle and shine somewhere else.  

 

“Somewhere else” being the key phrase. 

 

“THIS IS A SILENT PROCESS.” 

 

If I had a dollar for every time I have heard those words the past three years, I could pay my sorority dues (which aren’t cheap) and still have money left over to compensate the families whose babies had random hysterical fits.  

 

We technically aren’t allowed to talk to each other about the girls we talked to because they don’t want it “affecting our judgment.” Thus, it must be silent.  

 

On the outside, it might seem like a superficial and rude way to pick who we want. But, on the inside, it’s the exact same way. No difference. Imagine someone deciding your worth on a scale of one to five.  

 

It must do wonders for self-confidence. Luckily though, they never know what they’re ranked, or the comments someone made about them. 

 

Self-confidence = intact.  

 

Recruitment reminds me of a gladiator battle. In quicksand. With pool noodles as swords. And the knowledge that a volcano is about to erupt and cover everyone.  

 

It might suck in the moment, but people will look back years later and think it was a pretty cool experience.  

 

All of the inner politics, superficial friendships and petty comments. Everyone thinks that those things are reserved just for Greek life. That anywhere else, you would never run into problems like that. But the thing is, you can find those in almost every aspect of your life.  

 

Join a sports team, there’s a political hierarchy. Want to be part of student government? You’re going to have to get used to hearing how your ideas aren’t as good as others. What about jobs or internships? You are going to make friends who aren’t really your friends. 

 

Despite all of this knowledge, I trudge through and remember all the good that it’s done for me, and all the things and people I wouldn’t have without it.  

 

For every fake conversation I have with someone, I remember all the real ones I’ve had with the girls who matter most in my life. 

 

For every executive decision that makes me roll my eyes in the back of my head, I remember that they have more than just my interests to take into account.  

 

For every miscellaneous fundraising event that forces me to rearrange my schedule, I remember that the money we raise goes to a home for domestic violence and sexual assault survivors.  

 

When I voice these complaints to my unaffiliated friends and they agree with me, though, that’s where I draw the line. The only people who are allowed to complain about Greek life are the people in Greek life. If the closest you’ve ever been to Greek life was a frat party on a Friday or Saturday night, you have no right to be critical.  

 

I met my best friend through Greek life who only lives 40 minutes away from me at home. I’ve learned a bunch of new West Coast lingo from my other Greek life friend who lives in Colorado. I get to go home to Massachusetts now and teach them all the new words I learned while also bragging that all my friends say “wicked” now. 

 

It’s a double-edged sword. Or a coin. Or, in my case, the hope that you’re far away from the volcano that you can watch it erupt without becoming a husk of a person.  

 

I have already seen my volcano erupt. I outran it. (Thank you high school track and field, I knew you would come in handy.) 

 

A lot in life can be compared to volcanoes and the good, the bad and the ugly. I wonder if I still have that poster board in my attic. If I do, I’m going to label those pictures and march back into middle school science and demand my one point.  

 

After everything I’ve been through, she at least owes me that.