You see, college girls aren't used to wearing pantyhose and SOME can't control themselves when drinking, but, Margaret, oh poor, dear Margaret...

Being in a University of Maryland fraternity has more than it’s fair share of stereotypical and clichéd college moments. There are pros and cons to being a member. The intermittent camaraderie is nice, and I still have a handful of great friends. House parties eliminate the need to walk or drive anywhere every other weekend and we had a great house chef. But, the ceremonies were kind of pointless, sometimes silly, and the incessant egos are often too big for one house. In my humble opinion, hazing in any form is just plain ridiculous. Overall, it was mostly good times, and I never had to admit to, nor did I feel like being, a typical “frat guy.” My $400 dues, per semester, were finally worth it, toward the end of my junior year. Worth every penny…

Amongst all the things you see in the movies that give fraternities a bad name is “The Formal.” Twice a year, a bunch of over-confident beer-chuggers don their only sets of suits and ties, and head to a ballroom, of sorts, for a “classy evening.” You know the drill: there’s a DJ, a handful of white-clothed and candlelit tables strewn about, a dance floor in the middle, and a buffet with wings, mozzarella sticks, and maybe some salad for the sorority gals. The first hour is standard fair for any formal gathering, college-aged or not: a never-ending line of people waiting for drinks at the bar, complaining about how they should have ten bartenders. The ladies visit the bathroom in droves to check their hair, gossip about the guys, and generally just use the time to steal away from the scene. During the second hour, everyone is two-fisting drinks around the tables, laughing about how goofy the other campus organizations are, talking about the professors for the 100 level classes, and the ladies garner looks of boredom that make Condoleeza Rice seem as gregarious as Robin Williams on coke. At the start of the third hour, people finally notice there is a dance floor, and 30 minutes later, the drunken horde of coeds have loosened their ties, let down their hair, and have begun treating the ballroom like any number of the campus’ not-so-sanitary establishments that serve cheap beer to underage students. Nobody’s on the table (yet), but the songs are the same cheesy dance tunes you hear at every bar, and some of the guys already have their ties around their heads. Half of the women have left the sides of their dates to chat in a corner, and the guys don’t even seem to be bothered by it.

The last hour. Ah, the last hour, this is where it all happens… I need not remind you how drunk about three-fourths of this crew is, and there are a few who are just completely blitzed out of their mind. One was Margaret – not the most popular girl in her sorority, pretty average actually: dirty blond hair, blue eyes, only slightly overweight (the normal “freshman fifteen,” she still looked good). She may have partied in high school, but clearly, not to this extent, as she’s still having trouble controlling herself in her sophomore year. She doesn’t put out as much as guys think she does, but she’s always up for some kind of “good time” or another, and is always somebody’s date at any of our fraternity functions.

Oh, God, the image is so clear in my mind, how to put into words…

Margaret went in for what seemed like her 16th trip to the bathroom, after probably just as many drinks. Most college girls aren’t used to wearing pantyhose on a daily basis, so “The Formal” presents an extra challenge for them, especially while drunk. Most girls still remember to pull their pantyhose down when going to the bathroom, but there are always a few tipsy women who might accidentally tuck their skirt in the top of their tights when they’re done, or something of the like. But, oh, it can get worse. Much worse…

Our damsel in distress came stumbling out of the restroom with a relieved look on her face. Her skirt was fine, not accidentally tucked in. Shoe bottoms were free of tp. Hair and makeup were okay, she was just a bit sweaty. I wasn’t paying full attention, but I can still spot a group of people when they smell shit. It’s a process. Across the room, I could see the sniffing and the scrunched faces start, the accusations of each other followed, then the pointing, and finally the howling laughter. Now I’m paying attention. Our dear inebriated Margaret had gone into the bathroom to take a dump, and had forgotten to pull down her pantyhose.

I’ll let that sink in… She dropped a bomb, but neglected to pull down her tights. She had come out of the bathroom, and now oozing out of the small holes in her pantyhose, up and down her legs, was smelly, runny, smooshy poo. It began to collect a bit around her ankles, almost like fresh chocolate doughnuts. You would think she would’ve noticed an unusually clean wipe, but I guess she just thought she was having a good day. Your own mind can now take over envisioning the ensuing bedlam at “The Formal.” Discuss.

See? Fraternity dues now worth every penny. Incredible thing to witness. We never saw Margaret again…