I’m Not On Exec And You Shouldn’t Be, Either

I'm Not On Exec And You Shouldn't Be Either

So, you want to run for a position on your sorority’s executive board.

The first step: don’t.

Oh, I’m sorry. That was rude. Let me rephrase: Please don’t do that. Oh my God, are you stupid? Why, why, why?!

You see, right now, you actually like your chapter. Sure, you could take or leave some girls but that’s why there are a lot of you — because if any group has really adopted the mantra of “safety in numbers” it’s sororities.

Look, I know what you’re thinking. I was you once. I was young and naïve and legitimately proud of my fake ID. I loved my chapter! Loved. I distinctly remember sitting there one Sunday looking up at the older girls at the front of the room and thinking, “Wow, I respect the shit out of them. I want to be like that one day.” I wanted to give something back to the organization that gave so much to me.

As it turns out, though, sororities are the gift that keeps on giving. What do they give, you so nervously ask? Never-ending piles of crap, that’s what. Being in charge of your peers is like trying to argue with a campus public safety officer. They’re out for blood, so your pleas fall on deaf ears and also maybe you develop a stress ulcer.

I cannot tell you the amount of dread responsibility will impart on you. The utter aggravation you’ll feel when a girl corners you in the library to ask you if she can skip the retreat you scheduled TWO MONTHS AGO because her boyfriend’s fraternity decided to have an impromptu “bottle and a babe” that night. The strain you’ll feel from having to suppress the automatic eye roll you do when someone complains that the events you plan are “super lame” and “not even that fun.” Of course they’re not fun! When was the last time you had fun while sober at a mandatory, itinerary-organized event? And the emails! My God, the emails. You might actually start to organize your inbox. It will be a horrific, unwelcome taste of adulthood, just like the first time you tried scotch.

No matter what you do, someone will be unhappy. Even doing innocuous things like collecting cash will suddenly become like pulling teeth. I’m fairly certain that the last thing you will see before you die will be a girl stomping her designer flats in your direction, livid about the fact that she overpaid for her T-shirt by three whole dollars. When the dementors come to suck out your soul (because let’s be honest, you’ve done some stuff) you will be surrounded by visions of the day you accepted this position, your eyes gleaming with pride and joy. What a load of bullshit that was.

Trust me, exec looks like no fun once you’re a older member. That’s right, “looks.” I wouldn’t actually know, because I wasn’t even on exec, and thank God. You can’t show up drunk to chapter when you’re on exec. What am I gonna do, just not be drunk on a Sunday? Please. Exec members also can’t drink at functions, which are pretty much the whole reason for joining a sorority in the first place. You know the only other women who can’t drink for nine months? Pregnant ladies, that’s who. Exec basically makes you pregnant.

Actually, I do have a little first-hand knowledge of life on exec, because I lived next door to my chapter’s president last year. It didn’t seem very fun. I could tell, because sometimes, if I was really quiet and lay very still, I could hear her muffled sobs of anguish through the shared wall of our bedrooms.

So, ladies, if you love your sorority, show it the old-fashioned way. Down a bottle of moscato and then modge-podge some glitter on it while you watch Real Housewives. Now that’s the gift that keeps on giving.

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I came for the wine, but I stayed for the complimentary appetizer sampler plate.

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