Beixi Li

From the streets, the hills, and the shady houses, they came. They stared us down and we backed towards the houses. God, didn’t they ever stop? We jumped from the frying pan into the fire as we realized the house was only more crowded than the lawn and almost knocked each other over trying to get outside again.

We were surrounded 10 to 1 with unending, unchanging questions hurled at us from every direction. They’re rushing our fraternity, but it feels like we’re under attack. In actuality, though, they’re more like struggling troops. Unfamiliar with the territory, the house could be a maze for all they know and some of them end up spinning in circles. The power of their weapons is completely underutilized as what could have been eloquent expressions turn into filler words and empty sentences. Instead of conquering the enemy, they end up massacring each other. If awkwardness was tangible, I could have thrown it at you in the form of a blocky, chunky, poorly formed question .

He’s looking at me expectantly, and his mouth mimes words, clamping shut on his last speech while his eyes bug slightly. Why does he remind me so much of a suffocating fish?

I try to look kind, post on a cheesy smile, and ask for his name again

“I’m Alex, uh, and I’m a Junior, yeah…” He nods his head affirmatively, but without confidence, and tries to master the art of eating and talking at the same time.

I feel my voice squeak up an octave, and notice that I sound vaguely like someone on helium, “Great! What are you interested in concentrating in?”

Alex’s face bears an interesting blend of lethargy and nervousness,“Uhhhh Finance. Yeah I’m thinking about I-banking.”

The little demon on my shoulder rolls her eyes and perfects an exaggerated tantrum. Thank goodness I didn’t say that back when I rushed. I’ve only heard Finance tonight 1000 other times, and what do you think they usually say when I ask why? Going once, twice…yup, money. Next, he’ll probably say something about being an entrepreneur.

 “I’d like to start my own business someday.”

Close enough.

Five minutes later he’s gone. And I can breathe a little bit. Turning around to take my breath of fresh air I find someone’s already breathing in that pocket of bliss. With an outstretched hand and overeager eyes. Did I look like this two years ago?

She’s already in the middle of her monologue.

““I’m a Sophomore trying to apply to the business school.”

Someone else materializes out of thin air.

“I want to major in I-Banking.”

And now they’re trying to outcompete each other.

“I was captain of DECA in high school.”

Last minute, they remember they’re supposed to be interested in me.

“What do you like most about Akpsi?”

“What’s your favorite part of the pledge process?”

“What are you majoring in?”

 

I’m trying to juggle questions and people and suddenly, I remember, I’m not very good at juggling at all. Trying to engage everyone is like trying to keep a frat house clean. Blond girl hasn’t said anything for the last five minutes. Brunette has been talking non-stop. Asian kid is trying to physically stare me down. Little girl in the back is looking everywhere except for at whoever’s speaking. Is it too much to ask for a little courtesy?

 

The group gradually migrates to their next victim, and squeezing my way through the impossibly dense crowd, making faces along the way, is the new British friend I made exactly 5 minutes ago. A friend of a friend, he was lucky enough to catch us at this crowning moment, surrounded by nervous rushes, shaking sweaty hands, eating cold pizza. Considering his complete alienation and disinterest from the process, he’s handling it quite well. After finally squeezing past the closest rush, he plops into a space next to me and shrugs his lean frame in closer to avoid bumping everyone around him.

Grinning ear to ear he points at his name tag, “Do you like it?”

I peer at the chicken scrawl of a name tag and make out, Chuck, Tim’s Friend.

I can’t help but laugh and even as he opens his mouth to discuss his ingenuity further, another deer in the headlights rush plucks up his courage and starts talking millimeters from my face.

As I answer the same questions all over again, I glance at Chuck out of the corner of my eye and see him faking seriousness, nodding his head in all the right places, and almost start laughing again, but then, that would be rude, wouldn’t it?

As this forlorn rush plods away, Chuck swings in front of me, sticks out his hand, and launches into an exaggerated speech.

“Okay, my dream is to get into Ross.” He waves his hands in flourishing gestures and bounces from foot to foot, “And you guys are just great, and, like, I’m great too. And I was president of—everything…because yeah. And I wanna work at a hedge fund.” He pauses to catch his breath, dusts off the nonexistent dust on his shirt, and ends with, “Oh and I love Goldman Sachs.”

I try to look insulted. And then I just can’t stop laughing. We’re dignified. We’re leaders and the best. We are the next CEOs, the next Steve Jobs, the next corporate bull. We are college students crammed into a too small house, eating bad pizza, drinking flat soda, judging other people.

“What do you think of all this?” I’m almost screaming to have my voice carry two inches.

He cocks his head, thinks a little, and says, for the first time seriously all night, “It is sort of interesting, because, you hear people trying to sell themselves and no one really enjoys doing it, or most people don’t.”

But the grin is back the next second and, again, we face the backup ranks of people, selling themselves, down to the last minute of the day.