It’s a lonely role, but someone’s got to do it. It’s the day of a formal that you’re a little less than excited for. A solid 5 that you just met took advantage of your kindheartedness (and drunkenness) a few weeks back at the bar when she decided to see what you were doing on “Friday, November 18th.” Maybe she’s just curious about my busy schedule, you thought to yourself. Just kidding. You knew what this meant. You just couldn’t come up with a bullshit excuse quick enough to respond with anything less than “Nothin, what’s up?” You agreed to take this young lady to her formal, thinking, Eh, I’ve had worse, and Eh, free dinner.
So today is the inevitable day. You wake up with only one thought in mind: black out time. That’s what formal is to you. This isn’t a fancy scholarship dinner or Cinderella’s grand ball. This is a formal. Luckily, one of your brothers got invited too, so the two of you commence with the chugging of liquor at your B house, passing a half-gallon back and forth for about an hour. You begin hyping each other up about the night talking about how it’ll probably end up being sweet and how you’re actually becoming more and more pumped about it. But that’s just the alcohol talking.
Your date texts you twenty minutes before the buses come to take everyone to the banquet hall: “OMW!!! HOPE YOU’RE READY TO PARTAAYY!!!” You cringe about how she said “partay” in a text but you have bigger problems right now. You still haven’t even showered. The word “shit” becomes all of your vocabulary for the next couple minutes as you run into the shower, throw on some dress clothes that somewhat match her dress, and pour whatever is left of the half-gallon into a water bottle. You and your brother’s date show up and take you two drunk degenerates to the sorority house for a few last second pictures. As you survey the scene, you begin to notice that you and your brother are the only ones who appear to be intoxicated. You think to yourself, The fuck? Is this the right place? Other dates have alcohol with them. But they have a pint or a six pack to share between the two of them.
You’re slowly starting to realize that maybe not everyone was born with a silver flask in their mouth. You begin to board the buses, already beginning to make an ass out of yourself as you heckle rival fraternities and GDIs that board the same bus. Your date is immediately called out to speak with the risk manager about your behavior.
The formal is exactly as expected. The same old dinner as any other sorority formal. The same unoriginal mock awards given out. The same crying from a couple of the sisters about some random issue. Time to introduce a little dose of unexpected. You hit the bar and start pounding shots to the chagrin of your already somewhat embarrassed date. You grab the mic and start handing out your own mock awards to every familiar face in the building. Not one of them would be considered politically correct. You hit the dance floor and start dancing with every guy’s date to a sea of dirty looks. They don’t matter. You won’t remember them in the morning. You photobomb every picture taken. This will serve as entertainment on Facebook and Instagram tomorrow.
The rest of the night is just a blur of walking around, harassing banquet hall employees, food, alcohol, a near fight, a cab ride back to your place, and some very sloppy and unsatisfying sex. You wake up next to your date, thankfully with a used condom next to your bed. Night successful. Needless to say, you aren’t welcomed back to any of that sorority’s future events or that banquet hall.
Not all heroes wear capes. In fact, they usually wear their own vomit along with various colorful liquor stains. You’re not the hero this formal deserves, nor the one it needs right now. A far from silent guardian, a lone rager, a drunk knight..