If Your Fraternity Had an H.R. Department

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The most recent hire at TFM was a female that runs the TSM side of the website, and I’m sure she does a fine job over there. Her arrival was the beginning of a new era at TFM headquarters, and the end of a worry-free one. Before she waltzed through the office door for the first time, wearing her high heels, slinging her pungent lady scent throughout the joint, and attracting bears with her menstruation, the hallways were filled with the kind of inappropriate banter only found during locker room post-games or “dudes only” bar outings. It was the kind of grotesque conversation that would make your mother sob and cut off communication with you. It was a simple time, really.

Interoffice shouts of “Yo Rob, I just printed off your column so I can take it to the restroom and masturbate on it” or “I’d rather pass a Pro V-1 through my urethra than have lunch with you today” were commonplace. It was a work environment filled with mutual respect and admiration. When these jaunts were not received favorably, the common retort would be, “Oh yeah? Why don’t you take it up with H.R.”

You see, we don’t have a human resources department, because we can’t have a human resources department.

Before our female coworker’s arrival, we would occasionally discuss the change in office dynamic, and strategies for avoiding any precarious situations. We weren’t writing H.R. regulations or anything, but the dark cloud of sexual harassment would soon loom overhead, and that’s a cloud that can bring the thunder. It’s not that we actually harass her sexually (we don’t), but some of the language that fills these hallways are of the sexually explicit variety. It’s just the nature of the smut-peddling industry. If Bacon needs to discuss office politicking by way of sexual favor, or if I need to analyze and voice my findings about the inverse relationship between Ben Roethlisberger’s bathroom raping sprees and his on-field quarterbacking struggles, we should have the freedom to do that, and without consequence. Side note: That’s actually a funny idea for a column. Rapelisberger was balling when he was still a practicing rapist.

Then she arrived, and thankfully, not much has changed. Now instead of “I’d rather pass a Pro V-1 through my urethra than have lunch with you today, Bill,” we say it to her. I’m pretty sure she’s cool with it. The only difference now is that these comments are often followed by this one: “Thank God we don’t have an H.R. department.”

But what if we did? Even worse, what if your fraternity had an H.R. department with the same behavioral standard of a traditional corporate office setting?

It might look something like this:

Human Resource Behavioral Report: ********* Fraternity

Date: October 27, 2012
Time: 10:20pm – 11:20pm

Note: All findings were recorded in one single hour.

The following findings during my visit to the ********* Fraternity at the University of ********* are in violation of our behavioral code as laid forth by the National Fraternity Member Handbook:

I was quickly reminded that my visit coincided with the Saturday before Halloween when a herd, must’ve been 20 to 25 deep, stormed through the front door of the house dressed in costume. Behind them followed four young men dressed as shackled prison inmates, trudging along 6-inches at a time, carrying a horse trough full of beer and ice, being directed by an astronaut with intermittent shouts of “Hurry the fuck up” and “Over here, cocksuckers.” Upon further inspection, the prison shackles appeared to be authentic, and made of heavy steel like the kind actually used in prison transport. The shackles were dragging along the newly installed hardwood flooring, leaving deep gashes. Their ankles were bound by them.

I was not able to ascertain how these shackles were acquired, and I would assume they are illegal to possess. More prison inmate-costumed young men later filed into the house. I counted 32 in all. They would all spend the entire time I was there serving the trough beers to the house guests and attending to the various needs of the chapter members. These young men were not hired help, as I was able to uncover with a quick a conversation with two of them.

From 10:38pm – 10:45pm I observed a barely-clothed Pocahontas performing hand-to-penis relations on the dance floor with a young man dressed as a giant pumpkin. She, almost impossibly, reached up through the leg holes of the pumpkin costume while remaining discrete and performing uninterrupted dance moves. The young man’s name donning the pumpkin and receiving the “handjob” was Stuart Tannenbaum. I know this because during the dance-jerk he shouted, “How does Stu Tannenbaum’s wiener feel in your hand?!” Stuart Tannenbaum’s penis was in full view for four minutes.

At 10:55pm, I estimated 175 to 200 people to be inside the house. Fire code limits the house capacity to 75. Speaking of fire code, at approximately 11:05pm a member of the fraternity walked into the main room of the house where the majority of the guests had congregated. Under each of his arms were rather large fire extinguishers. They were both full, as I would find out about 15 seconds later when this dual extinguisher-wielding Count Dracula released the contents until empty while shouting, “Christmas is coming early this year, motherfuckers!” The house erupted into complete chaos.

It would become clear that the partygoers viewed me as a house guest dressed as some sort of corporate figure, nerd or librarian, as they would refer to me as different variations of the aforementioned in passing. I would spend a good portion of the time in the house shunning sexual advances and offers of three different forms of illegal narcotics.

Other flagrant code violations observed include the following:

– 38 counts of hazing identified as defined by our code of conduct
– multiple liquor shots were forced upon all 32 of the prison inmates, audial displeasure was heard from 12 of them
– the displeasure was met with a particularly aggressive form of hazing
– suspicion of organized and sophisticated cocaine distribution

Suggested response:

– revocation of chapter charter
– submission of this report to local law enforcement narcotics division
– submission of this report to university officials with staunch recommendation of chapter-wide expulsion


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Roger_Dorn

Roger Dorn (@RogerJDorn) is the Vice President of Media for Grandex, Inc. He's a native Texan with a full head of hair and knows his way around a nice box of red wine. Dorn graduated (BBA) with a GPA sitting in the meaty part of the bell curve, not lagging behind, but not trying to show off, either. Golf is his game now. He's long off the tee but can't putt for shit. Email: dillon@grandex.co

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  1. 0
    otter08

    Ya know Dorn, I liked you so much better when you were just a ballplayer. If you wanna be an interior decorator now that’s none of my business. But some of us still need this team. Now you listen to me! This is my last shot at a winner and for some of the younger guys it could be their only shot. I don’t know what happened to you. But if you ever, ever tank another play like you did today, I’m gonna cut your nuts off and stuff em down your fuckin throat!

    ^ ThisTake a lapReply • 2 years ago
    • 0
      The Baron

      ^
      Roger Dorn: Don’t fuck with me, Vaughn!
      Rick Vaughn: Yeah? Fuck you!
      Roger Dorn: What’s the matter, rookie Fuck-Wad? Can’t you take a little joke?
      Rick Vaughn: Yeah real fucking funny, asshole!
      Lou Brown: All right, all right! Knock that shit off!
      Roger Dorn: Lou, you better make it real clear to this little lady that I’m not about to take his shit!
      Lou Brown: Shut up, Dorn!

      An American Fuckin’ classic.

      ^ ThisTake a lapReply • 2 years ago