installment 1
I “rushed”, as we called it, in the early eighties (1981, to be exact) at a mid size public university on the west coast. My mother had been in a sorority in college in the fifties, and I grew up hearing stories about how amazing her experiences were. I thought sorority life sounded wonderful, and simply accepted her stories at face value, without considering my own personality, and temperment. You see, I attended an all girls high school, and had acquired a reputation for being a bit of a cynical smart aleck. My social skills were also, er, undeveloped, perhaps? But that is digressing….. back to the story at hand. My university was some distance from the region of the state where I grew up, and of course, the culture in that part of the state was different. I was from a fairly Podunk town in Northern California, and I was not prepared for what rush at a Southern Cal school would be like. Dear readers, please remember that my impressions were those of a naïve eighteen year old, almost twenty-seven years ago. ( yikes! I feel old! Well, middle aged, anyway. Oh hell, I AM middle aged! Bring on the Botox!) Please pardon that last digression…in other words, I do not mean to “dis” anyone’s sorority.
I rushed as a freshman, and left my summer boyfriend and my part time job so that I could arrive at school a week early. Part of my summer was spent working at a local department store, and the other part, selling home painting services. I figured that my work experience would give me lots to talk about during rush! (side note: my family was middle class, and money was tight…but didn’t everyone work during the summer?) With my Princess Diana haircut, and newly acquired preppy wardrobe, I was sure I would do just fine. I couldn't wait to leave my dusty suburb, and head for the beach!
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