Alpha Tau Zeta was a dry fraternity. Let me rephrase that. Alpha Tau Zeta was a "dry" fraternity. For insurance purposes (though National headquarters offered up some moral excuse) there was no alcohol allowed in the house. This particular chapter, however, interpreted the rule as "No Alcohol on the First Floor" and "No Advertising Parties." Therefore, the ATZ parties were word of mouth affairs. The Brothers were each responsible for inviting friends, potential freshmen recruits for the following year, and, most importantly, girls.
In an all-male enclave, girls were the lifeblood. A party without girls impressed no one. Recruiting would dry up and the strong oak of the fraternity would wither and die. The occasional "Brothers Party" was fun in it's way. The rampant macho debauchery of drinking and friendly violence had its place. In fact, I almost preferred these nights. In my later years, I have experienced many parties with members of the opposite sex. Many nights at the bars. Many standard social gatherings that most would consider fun. But never again have I experienced those nights of joyous communal abuse. Re-enacting our favorite professional wrestling moves so as the Ric Flair open-handed chop (Woo!), smashing light-tubes over each other's bare backs, and playing a form of ping pong where the punishment for a miss was a full power shot to the bare abdomen resulting in welts that would last for a week. But I am of a rare breed. For most, the big parties with the inebriated girls were the draw. And it's not like I hated them or anything...
Thumper had been in the basement drinking for well over an our before the first female kindling for the fire of the party began to arrive. He played a Beer Pong variation that involved throwing three balls per turn (because, as Port-o John like to put it, "Why go thirty miles per hour when you can go ninety?"). His confidence brimmed over and spilled onto the early party- goers. He pushed around the freshmen guys who, hoping for a bid the following fall, said nothing about the offense. He hugged his Brothers and clung to their shoulder as if he would fall off a precipice if he let go. What he did not do, however, was talk to the women.
Sure, he yelled obscenities at his Cups (the Beer Pong variation) opponents who happened to be female. But he didn't have anything resembling a meaningful conversation. Or anything resembling a meaningless conversation, for that matter. Just a barrage of expletives and rambling, barely coherent taunts. I'm sure there must be someone who got laid using this tactic, but he would have had to possess a level of charisma that Thumper could never hope to attain. Only the legendary General Duck, who now existed only in the mists of time and fraternity lore, could have pulled off such a feat.
Bob and Pat observed Thumper from across the room. They couldn't hear the exact words, but they knew what he was saying.
"You think we should help him out?" Bob asked.
"Giving him attention only encourages him," Pat said. "But we did promise that we would."
Pat and Bob made their way toward Thumper but were intercepted by Cooper, who had just left the side of a very attractive, though very young, girl.
"Hey, brah," Cooper said to Pat. "I heard you guys are trying to get Thumper laid tonight."
The interruption had lit Pat's fuse and Bob, well-versed in these things, stepped in between. "We're trying to get everyone laid. Isn't that the point of these parties?"
Cooper looked at Pat. "I just don't want you guys polluting his head with talk of low standards."
Pat's eyes lowered into a squint.
Again, Bob attempted to mediate. "It's a special night for the kid. We'll make sure it ends with him shaft deep in a hot chick. Don't you worry."
"Good," Cooper said. "Because I don't want him hooking up with the kind of girls that Pat hooks up with."
Before I go on, I feel that I must state that Cooper and Pat were long-time friends. They had even been roommates the previous year. They ate together, drank together, and once even made love in the same room together (not with each other, of course). All the same, there was a rivalry between them. The ribbing that Pat was now subjected to was far from good natured. Pat, in turn, showed Cooper the level of restraint for which he had become so famous.
"Fuck your own face, faggot!" Pat yelled, his Accusatory Finger barely an inch from Cooper's face.
Bob pulled Pat away. "Alright, everybody out of the pool."
Pat walked right up to Thumper and positioned his Accusatory Finger squarely in the young man's line of sight. "You're gonna hook up with the fattest chick here."
Thumper, belly full of beer and head full of dopamine, was in a very agreeable mood on this particular evening. "Whatever you say!"
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