THE REAL LIVEJOURNAL IDOL "FRIENDS AND RIVALS" -- WEEK 11.0
IN THE DOG HOUSE
There's a very good reason why I left my first college after my freshman year.
This is a story I thought I'd never tell. The memory is just so repugnant, and even though there is no logical reason for it I still feel extremely guilty about the whole affair. So to cover my bases and protect myself, I'm going to use false names throughout this piece...
Robert, the Provost of the Delta Omega Gamma fraternity, grinned sadistically at me and my fellow initiates. “All right, you worthless, shit-eating pledges! Find yourselves a flat plot of land and bed down for the night!”
I silently ground my teeth at Rob's derogatory comments, but had enough sense not to say anything, despite how drunk I was. It had to be nearly 3 AM and I was absolutely exhausted. I walked through the deep woods and eventually found a soft place to collapse. I fell asleep mulling over how I had gotten into this crazy situation.
My parents had encouraged me to spend at least one year of college outside the Greater New York City area, so that I could see that the rest of the world was not like my home town. I took forever to make my decision and ended up choosing a small, rural college in the Deep South because they offered me a boatload of financial aid: My tuition, room and board were completely covered by various scholarships and grants, and the only things I was going to have to spend my own money on were my textbooks and other basic school supplies. It seemed like too good a deal to pass up.
It never crossed my mind that other students attending the college would get angry when they learned that a four-eyed Yankee “frosh” like myself was getting a free ride from the school administration... while good-old Southern boys such as themselves had to scrimp and save in order to pay their own way to get a decent education. And since the other students couldn't take out their frustration on the school's financial aid office, they directed their anger at me instead. I couldn't walk across campus without getting verbally assaulted and physically intimidated... and I was beginning to fear for my safety.
My room mate, a Junior named Luke, was sympathetic to my plight, if for no other reason than I tutored him for free and he didn't want to lose access to my services. One day he drawled a potential solution to me: “Instead of leaving, why doncha come join my frat? Nobody, but nobody, will mess with you when you're a brother in Delta Omega Gamma!”
He seemed to have an excellent point; on campus the fraternity was known as the “Wild DOGs” or the “Mad DOGs”, and the brothers absolutely reveled in their hard-drinking take-no-shit reputation. Over half the members of the school's football team were in Delta Omega Gamma, and there was a rumor that anyone on campus who did not show proper respect to a D.O.G. member would have an unfortunate altercation within the week resulting in broken bones and lost teeth. Figuring that there was safety in numbers, I attended the next few Delta Omega Gamma “rush” events with Luke as my sponsor.
At the third mixer I was formally introduced to the head of that chapter, a Senior named Robert who was also the school's star quarterback. The meeting... did not go well.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Luke?” Robert started verbally ripping my room mate apart. “Whatever made you think we'd consider a Yankee faggot as a pledge?!”
Luke did his best to convince Robert. “But he's good people, sir, and he's helping me get my grades up!”
“I don't need any fuckin' help with my grades! Bad enough that he's a Damned Yankee, I hear the yellow-bellied motherfucker can't even hold a drink! Word on campus is he hasn't attended a single kegger before now!”
I can't explain what happened next, except to say that it was an act of pure desperation on my part; I knew that I had to impress Robert if I were to have any chance of joining the fraternity. Without thinking, I suddenly opened my mouth and said “I can hold my liquor just fine. I don't go to keggers because I don't want to make any more enemies by putting you Southern boys to shame.”
That was a damned lie because I hated the taste of alcohol and so avoided it like the plague... but my statement got Robert's attention. He glared at me, growling: “What are you saying?”
I glared right back at him. “I'm saying I can drink any man on campus under the table. Including you.”
Robert pushed Luke aside and stood toe-to-toe with me; he was three inches taller than I was and 280 pounds of solid muscle... but I didn't flinch as he glowered down at me. “You looking for a beating, Yankee?”
I somehow managed to keep my voice calm and even. “No, I'm looking for a place where I can satisfy my thirst among guys who can actually keep pace with me. Luke tells me that you could, but I'm not so sure.” Robert's eyes bulged, but my mouth kept running. “How about a friendly wager: We match each other, drink for drink, while standing up. First man who falls over or pukes loses. If I win, you accept me as a pledge, as I will have proven that I can hold my liquor like a true Mad DOG.”
Robert mulled it over. “And what do I get if you lose?”
“The right to brag all over campus of how you put a smart-mouthed Yankee frosh in his place.”
Robert shook his head. “Not enough.”
I nodded sympathetically. “I understand. You just can't afford to take a hit to your reputation if you actually lost a drinking challenge to someone like me.” I shrugged, feigning disinterest. “Of course, if you don't accept the challenge, some folks will be left wondering as to whether or not you really would have beaten me...”
Robert's face flushed, and a moment later he yelled “BARTENDER! TWO DOUBLE SHOTS OF TEQUILA!” And the game was on.
No, I really didn't like the taste of alcohol, so I rarely drank. However, I had something of an ace up my sleeve: I had a proverbial cast-iron stomach. I simply never got nausea or heartburn, so my strategy was to make Robert throw up before I fell over.
I had heard somewhere that the surest way to induce vomiting was to rapidly imbibe several different kinds of hard liquor. Thus, for the second round I immediately ordered double-shots of Jack Daniels whiskey. Robert then ordered two shots of Johnny Walker, so I ordered a couple of shots of rum. After that, things got blurry... but I do remember that I was still standing when Robert spewed the contents of his stomach all over himself.
On the one hand Robert kept his word and took me in as a pledge in Delta Omega Gamma, and I no longer got harassed by the general student population. On the other hand, during the hazing period Robert definitely pushed me harder than any of the other pledges when it came to the verbal abuse as well as the calisthenic exercises and the other “endurance” challenges. Fortunately for me I was a distance runner by nature and had even trained for the New York City marathon, so I always outlasted my fellow pledges. It wasn't pleasant, but although I knew that Robert was angry at me for beating him in the drinking game I no longer felt that my life was in danger. Thus, I thought that what I had to endure as a pledge was more than a fair trade.
Six weeks after I became a pledge, Robert called a Friday Night meeting for all the new fraternity initiates. “All right, you disgusting pledges, listen up! You're taking a little overnight trip! Follow me!” We all headed outside where several cars were waiting. We were ushered into the vehicles and ordered to remain utterly silent as we drove into the night. About three hours later we found ourselves in some truly wild country, with nothing but dense forest visible in all directions under the pale moonlight. The cars pulled off the highway and wound their way onto some dirt roads until we finally stopped at what appeared to be an abandoned campground.
“Out of the car, scum! You have one more challenge to face!” My fellow pledges and I stepped out of our vehicle, and the brothers handed each of us a pint bottle of vodka. “You have nearly earned the honor of becoming fully initiated into the Delta Omega Gamma fraternity... but a true Mad DOG will be able to survive in the wild, no matter what. You must now prove you are capable of that. Be careful, though; this is rattlesnake territory... but that's why we've just handed you all snakebite 'medicine'.” Robert chuckled. “Mind you, it won't actually stop the poison from killing you, but at least you won't care about the pain.” Robert and the other frat brothers laughed heartily. “You have five minutes to completely consume what's been handed to you, and then you'll be let off the leash.” Drinking so much vodka at once made a couple of the other pledges throw up, but I was able to hold my portion down with no trouble.
Robert grinned sadistically at me and my fellow initiates. “All right, you worthless, shit-eating pledges! Find yourselves a flat plot of land and bed down for the night!”
I stumbled through the deep woods and eventually found a soft place to collapse. The night was a bit chilly and I wished I had warmer clothes, and I didn't have the proper tools to start a fire. However, I remembered enough of my Boy Scout training to build a crude shelter out of fallen branches and covered it with leaves. Once that was done, I crawled inside and quickly passed out.
I'm not sure what time I awoke, although I do remember it was full daylight; I had fallen asleep flat on my back and a shaft of sunlight had penetrated my shelter and was shining right in my face. However, it wasn't the sunshine that brought me to wakefulness but rather the sensation of a slight weight sitting on my chest. I was about to reach up and brush the thing off me when I felt it move and realized it was alive.
I opened my eyes and found a brightly colored snake coiled up and sitting on my chest. It was about three feet long with red, yellow and black banded markings running down the length of its body, and was so slim that it must have only weighed about three pounds.
Despite my shock at this discovery, I managed to stay absolutely motionless; although I didn't recognize the species I knew that Robert hadn't lied about this area being rattlesnake territory and I didn't want to take the chance of being bitten. So I laid there, stock still, trying to figure out how the snake had gotten there. I could only assume that it had chosen to share my shelter seeking warmth from the chill of the night. Mind you, that didn't explain how or why it had crawled on top of me--
“Hey there, you worthless Yankee piece of shit! How are you doing?” Without turning my head, I glanced over and saw Robert crouched down next to me just outside my shelter, grinning from ear to ear.
Keeping my voice low and soft, I whispered: “Snake. Get it off me.”
Robert chuckled. “Sure, no problem... but you gotta do two things for me first. One: Admit that you're a shit-eating Yankee cocksucker.”
I hesitated, barely able to believe my ears, but then Robert grunted and said, “If you don't say it right now, I'm walking away and not coming back for two hours. So: Admit that you're a shit-eating Yankee cocksucker.”
Terrified at the prospect of being bitten by what I assumed was a rattlesnake, I hissed: “I'm a shit-eating Yankee cocksucker.”
Robert nodded. “Good. Now, piss your pants. Once you do that, I'll take care of the snake.”
If anything, Robert's second demand was easier for me to comply with, as my bladder was almost full and I was so terrified that I was having difficulty keeping myself dry. I soon felt liquid warmth flooding my crotch... and almost immediately after that I heard raucous laughter and scattered applause.
I finally turned my head and saw about a dozen members of the Delta Omega Gamma fraternity standing about 20 feet behind Robert... and they were all laughing at my debasement and humiliation.
“A deal's a deal!” Robert said, reaching down and picking up the reptile. I scrambled out of the shelter, livid and screaming. “WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?! WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME IN THAT PREDICAMENT?!”
“Leave you in that predicament?” Robert guffawed. “I *PUT* you in that predicament! How do you think the snake got there?” Robert gently stroked the animal as he continued laughing.
I desperately wanted to punch Robert... but he was so much larger than me that I knew I'd lose a physical fight. I still continued yelling at him: “You think it's funny to put a rattlesnake on me while I was sleeping?”
“Rattlesnake?!” Robert and the other fraternity brothers started laughing louder. “Rattlesnakes don't look anything like this; their bodies are much thicker and they have diamond-shaped heads. No, this little beauty is what we call a milk snake. It's absolutely harmless; you really need to work hard to piss one off enough so that it tries to bite you, and even then-” Robert tapped the snake on its head four or five times before it lashed out and bit his hand and held on for several seconds. “- it doesn't even hurt. You see?” The snake eventually let go, and Robert set it on the ground and it quickly slithered away. Robert turned back to me. “OK, let's all get in the cars and head back to campus.”
It turned out that was the final hazing ritual before formally joining the fraternity; to scare the pledges sufficiently so they peed themselves. All the brothers had brought towels for us pledges to sit on so our urine wouldn't stain the upholstry of their cars. And Robert showed that he truly respected me by letting me ride shotgun in the front passenger seat of his station wagon.
Robert steered his vehicle onto the dirt road leading out of the camp. “I gotta admit, you're not so bad for a shit-eating Yankee cocksucker...”
“Thank you,” I grumbled. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”
“No problem.” Robert said... slurring his words. For a moment I thought he might be drunk... but he had seemed just fine before we got in the car. I turned to look at him, and saw a line of drool hanging from the right side of his mouth.
I frowned. “Rob, are you OK?” The man said nothing, and he didn't even turn his head to look at me. Then his body was gripped by an epileptic seizure, and a moment later the car veered violently and left the road. I blacked out when my head hit the ceiling of the compartment as the vehicle rolled over.
When I came to I could hear the other fraternity brothers in the back seat all groaning in pain... but I didn't hear a sound from Robert. When I looked him over I found he wasn't breathing.
The autopsy determined that Robert wasn't killed in the crash. Rather, he had died from the snake bite; what he had thought was a milk snake had actually been a similarly-colored Eastern coral snake, which is often called the American cobra. Its venom is one of the deadliest neurotoxins on the face of the planet, and because it numbs the sensory system it's almost completely painless. So many victims don't seek medical care; they just keel over dead within a couple of hours of being bitten.
No one really blamed me for what happened to Robert, but I think you can understand why I couldn't stay at that college after what happened...