Listen, with so many girls lining up to get into the frats and a limited amount of brothers, it’s bound to happen.

“Yeah, haha and then he asked if I liked the music but girl, you won’t believe… it was Avril Lavigne… What kind of man whore…”

“OMG this other guy I hooked up with did the same thing! It’s almost like we hooked up with the same frat boy.”

The two girls look at each other in panic.

Sitting down at a lunch table with some girls I vaguely knew, I had no expectation for the conversation to be as riveting as it was. After introducing everyone to each other, the conversation veered into the usual discussion of our weekend benders, taking a turn for the better. One girl had fallen prey to the stereotypical frat boy charm, being escorted up the stairs of the frat house while their friends giggled below, scavenging for another drink. Although she ran through the typical routine of acting coy when asked, her friends incessantly coaxing a response led her to break her silence.

“I hooked up with a frat senior lol,” one girl admitted, breaking through her hesitancy.

The conversation continues with the divulgence of details, a minute-by-minute retelling of the night’s events. Nothing unusual, I thought, as I have heard several variants of similar conversations of girls meeting frat boys and the predictable chaos that ensues. As she continues to speak, I turn my gaze to the girl sitting diagonally from me, and I watch as her face falls. 

She interrupts, asking for a name, and upon its revelation, both girls look at each other with contrasting expressions. While the original storyteller seems amused, finding the whole situation funny, the other one looks upset. She begins to tell her version of the story.

“We met at the house last week and talked for hours before he invited me up. We… you know… and then he asked for my number and kicked me out. I really thought he was into me but he hasn’t been answering since… I guess because he met you.”

As she continues, it becomes clear that although they met the same man on two different nights in two different contexts, the sequence of events was eerily similar. 

“Did he ask you if it was weird that he was four years older than you?” one asks.

“Wait yea he did… he acted like he would never normally get with a freshman.”

The rest of us look around awkwardly, trying to decipher how to respond to the two girls reacting in opposite ways to this situation. I finish my Hewitt alfredo pasta and take that as my cue to leave. 

To those girls, I hope you walk into that frat together next weekend and record the look on his face. Thank you for sacrificing your own dignity for my entertainment, I wish you all the best. 

The Oops Button They Wish They Had via Bwog Archives