Alex Stone went to Michigan and wanted to join a fraternity. The only problem is that Alex is not a wide-eyed, impressionable freshman. Alex is a 38-year-old grown man who wanted to do an opinion piece for the New York Times. That didn’t stop him from attending the rush parties, attempting to gain membership to the exclusive club that is Greek life.
From the New York Times:
I hit six a night, strutting my best frat boy act, gleaned primarily from ’80s movies — “Nerds? I hate nerds!” — and faking my way through conversations about football. (“Yeah, but they need to work on their running game.”) Everywhere I went I was met with suspicious looks and questions about my age.
Despite the suspicions, Stone managed to schmooze with one fraternity president. The president of Alpha Delta Phi kept inviting him back to events because they had started to become friends of sort. Having the president’s backing, it was almost automatic that he’d keep getting invited back, maybe even a bid if things went well.
Things were going well until they had their last event, whirly ball night. Stone decided that he was going to “teach these kids how to party” during the event. In an attempt to show how cool he was, Alex “slammed” whiskey on the way to whirly ball, and then did a few keg stands. He claims not to remember much of the event. What a lightweight.
He does remember sitting on a porch with a bong in his hand. Deciding that he was going to throw back to his college days when he dabbled in marijuana, he took some hits. Well, in his mind, it didn’t go over too well.
A few moments passed in what seemed like total silence. Then things started to go south. I was gripped by a sense of impending doom, and I stood up to leave. Before I could take a step, I doubled over and slammed into the railing with a nauseating thud. Then I crashed onto the deck in a fetal heap.
I felt the sick boil up from a deep place. I retched with such violence I thought my stomach would tear. Vomit and bile spewed from my mouth and nose. My eyes clamped shut and I couldn’t move.
He demanded that the guys call an ambulance. What a pussy. This is the classic “I’m too high, I need to go to the hospital” move. You’re a 38-year-old who has smoked weed before, not a 16-year-old smoking pot for the first time in his parents’ basement. It’s not ADP’s fault you just can’t hang with the big boys. No bid.
Someone did call the medics, and his true age was soon revealed.
“Who is this guy?” I heard one of the emergency medical technicians ask.
“I don’t know,” the guys said, already distancing themselves from me, “he showed up at our house. He says he went to Harvard.”
The E.M.T. rooted through my pockets and took out my wallet as I lay there mewling. He removed my ID and read it out loud.
“You’re how old?” the president said. “What the hell?”
“Harvard, huh?” said the E.M.T. Then after a bit: “Not too smart.”
Love the little jab at Stone by the paramedic. Just subtle enough to do some damage. ADP’s president told Stone the following day that he should probably stay away from the fraternity after that night. No one wants a weirdo 38-year-old pledge in their house. Could you imagine the hit their reputation would take?
Stone ended up joining ACACIA, who had a whopping six members. His “hazing” included getting the guys beers and pizza, and proving math theorems in a certain amount of time. ACACIA was shut down the following March after he was initiated..
[via New York Times]
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