The cattle are herded into a single straight line, winding down the side of the hill. They are primed, perfect, and ready. They enter one by one into the loud unknown, sharing the same wide-eyed expression of both terror and excitement—I remember my first sorority recruitment rodeo.

           When I was a freshman three years ago, I lined up in the same spot along Hill St. Hot, scared, and anxious. “The girls you meet in your recruitment line just may become your lifelong friends,” they would repeat over and over again. Yet, in line you’d notice each girl giving the girl behind her the all-too-familiar up-down eye gaze; it would travel through the line like a bitchy domino effect before they flipped on a smile and introduced themselves one by one. Competition and friendship come hand in hand in rush. Oh I am sorry, I mean recruitment.

           Calling the process of recruitment “rush” is one of the many frowned upon actions in the process. In recruitment there are many guidelines for both freshmen and the girls rushing them. These aren’t technically set in stone rules but they are treated that way nonetheless because to go against them would be social suicide.

To: Unnamed Potential New Member (PNM)

From: Panhellenic Recruitment Chair

Date: September 9th, 2012

Subject: Getting Ready for Recruitment

Thank you for registering for sorority recruitment! It is sure to be an experience of a lifetime. Tomorrow at the Union you will meet your assigned Rho Omega. This is a junior Greek Life member who will help guide you through your recruitment experience for the next three weeks. She will be there for you every step of the way.

In preparation for recruitment, below are some guidelines for how to prepare for each party. Of course, these are just suggestions.

WHAT TO WEAR:

-Mixers (Round 1): Dress like you’re going out for a casual lunch with your friends: dark jeans or simple shorts, cute flats or boots, and a nice top or sweater. Casual is key.

-Second Sets (Round 2): A little dressier than mixers. Dress like you are going out to brunch with your friends or mom.

-Third Sets (Round 3): Fancier than earlier rounds. Dresses or skirts suggested. Dress like you are going on a dinner date.

-Preference Parties (Final round): Dresses and heels suggested. Think bar mitzvah or wedding rehearsal dinner.

We look forward to meeting you all tomorrow! Go Greek!

Sincerely,

Panhellenic Council Recruitment Chair

Conformity is merely a “suggestion”. Case in point. I received this email a week before rushing my freshman year. Between getting lost trying to find where my first lecture was, and attempting to navigate this confusing website called “Ctools”, my mind was too preoccupied to question the blaring conformity of it all leading up to rush. If only I knew what was coming.

           Freshman year was a lot of following the herd. Listening to guidelines. Fitting in. Not because I felt out of place, but because I wanted the true college experience. I figured doing what the people around me did was the first step getting it. So, in that sense, I tried keep an open mind.

           I didn’t plan on joining a sorority. In my head, sororities were all about loving the color pink (which I severely dislike) and looking like Elle Woods from Legally Blonde (my hair is so dark it’s practically black). It wasn’t until my roommate and good friend decided to try it that I looked into Greek Life. As I thought about it more, I realized that most of the girls I had developed friendships with so far were doing it. So, maybe I’d find people I liked. The night before the deadline to sign up, my roommate explained that I could stop rushing if I didn’t like the girls I met. With that sentiment in mind, I started the process that ended up defining my college life. The process that helped this confused freshman girl feel a little less homesick, a little less alone, and a little more excited about what college had to bring.

           That was 3 years ago. I’m a senior now. Although I swear I blacked out for most of it, I actually remember the first moment I set foot into my sorority. My memory is vivid, and many of my friends can recall the day just as well as I can. That’s the odd but charming part of recruitment—the memories last.

           It was the second day of rush, and my third house of the day. This house was different because it was the only sorority on campus that I knew someone in. She sang with me in high school. We used to be friends. Will I see Jenna inside? Will she have time to talk to me? Does she even know I am rushing? A familiar face would be a relief after days of girl flirting with complete strangers. At that moment the shouting began and the door opened. I marched with the herd, trying to blend in. Look straight, act calm, fit in, stop sweating.

           Girls in uniform shirts lined the stairs holding perfectly straight arms above their heads as they clapped and chanted (no, screamed,) some popular song that they inserted their own words into. By day two of rush, the whole rigmarole was normal. Instead of triggering a fight-or-flight feeling of panic, the blaring chants made my body tingle with nervous excitement.

           “Hi Carly!”  Jenna appeared from the conveyor belt-like line and perfectly matched up to me. Is this a coincidence? Did she know I was rushing?

           “Jenna! Hi! Wow, it’s so good to see a familiar face.” Her hair was perfectly straight and her calm smile mimicked mine, as if she was relieved to see me as well.

           “Yeah, I bet. I know talking to strangers all the time can be exhausting. Recruitment is pretty weird like that. I am so glad you are here though! I heard you are rooming with Jackie from high school. How’s that going?” She guided me to a comfortable spot on the couch in front of the air conditioning. I was instantly relieved.

           After about five minutes Jenna introduced me to a girl named Rachel. She had dark brown hair, just like Jenna and me. Her large brown eyes were inviting and she spoke with animation. “So did you do any sports or clubs in high school?” she asked enthusiastically.

“Yeah, no sports but I did choir and musical theater,” I replied, fearing I would sound like an un-athletic nerd.

           “Oh awesome, I did theater too! I am actually minoring in theater!” This was only the second girl I had met going through rush so far that shared my passion for theater. I was starting to think that to be Greek you had to have played sports. Maybe Greek Life was about more than I thought. For the recruitment rounds to come, my connection with these girls became more real. I was surprised that I had developed real friendships in this house. Two weeks later I got a bid and a month later Jenna was my big.

           That moment during the first set of rush felt like magic to my naked, freshman eye. I just happened to get to talk to the one girl I knew in Greek Life and I even met a girl who did theater as well! It is as if they knew everything about me before I even walked in the door…

           Although that feeling of magic was a naive thought, it is actually not a bad way to describe recruitment. Magic consists of tricks. Calculated, practiced tricks. Sorority recruitment is practically the same. We plan and practice our every move in a strategic manner. It’s like a performance, or even façade if you will, all to convince our audience of naïve scared freshman.

           Sophomore year, 15 minutes until another round of second sets, Charlotte, our recruitment chair, yelled for us to follow her. She wore a white dress and nude heels, signaling her status above us while we wore sweaty Keds, tank tops and shorts. Charlotte’s perfect complexion was damp with sweat and her curly blonde hair was so motionless, it must have been super-glued in place. She gathered us in the living room. “Come on girls, you know how this goes we did it all of first sets. There is no excuse that everything shouldn’t be perfect!” I could see her veins popping out of her pale, concaved temples. “Why on earth would you ask her if she does sports when you know she was in band? It’s fucking common sense.” Her voice gradually fell in volume as she took a deep breath to collect herself. “You need to find her golden nugget, the one thing that makes her beam when she talks about it! When you find it, milk it.”

           We prepared for the round to start, and I knew everything I needed to know. Nicky Heart. Ann Arbor, MI. Varsity Soccer…The chanting began and I followed the line towards the door. Standing there, waiting for me to take her arm, was a wide-eyed girl with an anxious smile. “Hi! Welcome, what’s your name?”

           “I’m Nicky.” She spoke loudly in attempt to cut through all of the screaming as we passed the stairs of chanting girls.

           “I’m Carly. It’s great to meet you. Sorry, I know it’s so loud in here, we’ll go to a quieter area.” I guided her to the corner of the living room in front of the air conditioner. She looked relieved by the cool air. “So, where are you from Nicky?”

           “I’m actually from right here in Ann Arbor,” she replied nervously.

           “Oh, me too! What high school did you go to?” Nicky’s eyes widened.

           “Oh my god, that’s crazy! You are the first girl from Ann Arbor that I have met in a sorority. I went to Huron, where did you go?” She leaned in closer to me, eager for a response.

           “I went to Community High,” I said as I mirrored her body language. “Yeah, not many girls from Ann Arbor end up rushing a sorority. Anyways, did you play any sports in high school?” Right at that moment Nicky’s face lit up. Bingo. I’ve found her golden nugget. We talked about soccer state champs for the next 5 minutes until I introduced her to Cassidy who “coincidentally” played soccer in high school. Magic trick: complete.

           Each round there’s a new girl, with a new tactic to make her feel at home. It may seem manipulative but it’s not like I was lying, right? I am from Ann Arbor. Cassidy does play soccer. It’s just the magical work of the invisible rush gods that I just so happened to be paired up with a girl I have everything in common with, right? Strategic. Practiced. Calculated.

           Once you are inside of the process, you can’t pretend like coincidences exist anymore. Not like you did as a freshman. The rush chairs rarely leave anything to chance. As a sophomore, rushing girls like Nicky, I was just doing what I was told. I was too focused on not messing up to notice anything weird about it. I played a part, whether I meant to or not.

           Every year thereafter, my part changed, and so did my perspective.

           As the girls leave the house after each round, we sing an exit song. We do this because we want them to remember our house as they go to the Union to make their cuts. Sometimes we sing this a cappella, and sometimes along to music for added effect. This is where perfection becomes tricky. During third sets junior year, our exit song got off from the music and everyone was clapping like broken, rhythm-challenged robots.

           The magic trick: incomplete.

           By the time you are a junior, your part involves less talking to girls and more filling up water, or presenting our philanthropy foundation to the girls. What a treat. Anyways, this day, I was on presentation duty and saved from trying to sing and clap with the music. However, I was front row to witness the hot mess.

           Charlotte came into the living room where all of the girls are looking around at each other with the same look of shit…that was bad. Her usually perfect hair frizzed and her curls were falling. Her eyes grew narrowed as she stomped over to the wall. “Like bye!” Her voice hit my face like an unexpected wave. Charlotte repeated the words as she slammed her hand against the wall over and over again, synchronizing the slams with the staccato of her voice. “All of the best girls we wanted are gone! Seriously. Like. Say. Fucking. Bye.” Charlotte looked at us as if it was a life or a death situation. I mean, rush is just that, right?

           I glanced to my right where one of my best friends was standing beside me, also on presentation duty. She was already waiting to meet my eyes. We squeezed each other’s hands as we struggled to hide our smiles and refrain from bursting into laughter. Is this for real? We were trying so hard keep it together as this chick continued to slam the wall in almost prefect rhythm.

           The sophomores all stood in fear, knowing it was their fault. I would have too, had I cared more. But, I really didn’t. It’s just music. The giddy recruitment filter blocking your vision begins to deteriorate as you reach upper-classman status. Mine sure had. I was more in focus, more aware.

           You see, in reality, it all looks natural and perfect on the surface. The PNM’s never really know when there is a mistake made in the house because they are too caught up in their own emotions. Did they like me? Do I take the snack or does that make me look fat? If I don’t, do I look nervous? I know because I was that freshman drowning in my own thoughts, too nervous to even pay attention to the songs they were singing. But, try telling one of our recruitment chairs that the PNM’s don’t notice these hiccups and they will most likely rip your head off. Or at least fanaticize about it.  

           On the drive home that night junior year, my roommates and I enthusiastically added “like bye” to every other sentence. We still to this day will turn to each other and give a classic “like bye” in Charlotte’s high pitched voice for a good laugh. As much as we like Charlotte as a person, it was just too funny to put to rest.

           That is one of the only fun parts of going to recruitment as an upper-classman—it gets funnier and funnier each year. The absurdity of it all is more apparent the more you are on the outside. Recruitment is a weird place for a senior to be, or swug (senior washed up girl) as we jokingly call ourselves due to our senior-citizen status in the sorority world. We are old news, and the freshmen are new news. So the acronym makes sense.  However, life is a lot more fun and a lot less lousy than that sounds.

           For instance, one perk of being old news is being on clapping duty at during recruitment. All we have to do is stand in the back singing and clapping until our hands are red and numb. I don’t mind it. No more long, repetitive conversations with strangers. Sometimes we sneak in cheesy bread from Pizza House and hide from the president and rush chairs upstairs. Swugs are rebellious.

            With three years of recruitment down, I know how it goes. I had been waiting for the crazy Charlotte moment of 2015. And last weekend on one of the last nights of rush, it came.

           “What the literal fuck?” The sound resonated all the way to the back of the stairs where I as hiding with my other rebellious friends. We quickly made our way to the bottom of the stairs to see what was happening, though we could hear it from two floors up. Charlotte stood fuming. The veins in her temple took a new form this year. I worried they may burst. “A fucking cup?” She paused and starred each girl down individually, making her way slowly down the line. “A fucking cup? Are you fucking kidding me?” The shrieking vibrato of her voice rang in my ears. I looked up at her hand raised above her head. And there it was, a plastic cocktail cup suffocating in her clenched fist. To her credit, this was the third time a PNM almost left our house with a cup. Letting a girl leave your house with trash is a big recruitment no-no, also known as a “rush infraction”, if we are being politically correct. It’s pretty meaningless in the grand scheme of things, but nothing is meaningless to Charlotte.

           I turned to the other senior standing next to me, both of us held a look of shock due to the dramatic turn of events over a single plastic cup. “Oh my god, if anyone not in Greek Life heard this,” I whispered to her.

           “I know,” she whispered back. Nothing more needed to be said.

           Recruitment turns girls I consider my good friends into unpleasant, blinded robots who cannot see the bigger picture; who can’t see past a off-beat song or rush infraction. Girls I confide in when I am so stressed all I want to do is cry. Girls I stay up till 4 a.m. with watching Amy Schumer sketches on YouTube. These girls are the ones who have defined my college life—three and half of the best years of my life. They are so much more than a meltdown over a stupid, plastic cup.

           Even I get sucked into the game. The competitive, ruthless game masked by “bridal party ready” make up. Stand in line, clap, sing, and sing louder. Be better than the other sororities. Louder, prettier, memorable, better. Uniform shorts, uniform shirts, and clean Keds. We all do it, make fun of it, and then do it again.

           Watching these moments of insanity behind the scenes; watching girls file in sweaty with forced, awkward smiles; that’s when the pang of guilt hits the hardest—guilt for making freshmen feel judged and nervous; guilt for acting like a typical “sorority girl” when I work tirelessly to prove to my family, friends, and myself that the stereotypes aren’t true; guilt for playing the part.

           I feel like I have no other choice because with this heightened awareness comes the undeniable acknowledgement that the system is what it is. It will never change. It’s not worth my energy to try to change it. If playing the part for one month of the year means finding the friends who will one day steal a shopping cart for you on your 21st birthday, then I’ll admit it, I’m in. That’s why I have stayed in. Even if it means cocktail cups turning into earth-shattering circumstances.

           When I rush girls who are smart enough to notice the insanity of recruitment, all I can say is “I know recruitment is weird, but it’s worth for the friendships you make.”  I find comfort in that sentiment because I can’t help but feel as though it’s the truth. They may not know it yet, but three years later when they find themselves crying on the last night of rush because it’s their last year all together, they will know it was worth it.

           And so it goes. Each year, places are taken, and the cattle are herded into their line on the hill. One in front of the other they get in formation, anxiously waiting. Will I fit in? Do I take the snack? And as the moment’s silence is broken with muffled chanting from within, the doors open and it all begins again.