in fact, i do think this is normal

(all names have been changed or just omitted entirely... except the name of the school and its location, which deserve to be mocked)

Not all parties are unforgettable Girls-Gone-Wild-esque Bacchanalias. At Case Western Reserve University, a small mostly-engineering school nestled betwee the bad part of Cleveland and the very bad part of Cleveland, this was especially true. Tragically true. Cleveland does not rock.

During my sophomore year, I was elected my fraternity's Social Chair. I'd thrown some half-decent parties my freshman year, and it stood to reason that I'd be able to perform just as well in an official capacity.

The illusion quickly vanished during the Greek Life orientation meeting for Social Chairs and Risk Managers. That the Risk Managers were being grouped with the Social Chairs was crystal-clear foreshadowing. This was my first introduction to the word "tort", the end of my youthful naivety.

My tenure as Social Chair wasn't a complete bust (oh no, have I ruined the suspense?). I set up a mixer with a sorority, the Pumpkin Carving mixer, which became an annual event that continues to this day. There were never any kegs in the house (the Greek Life equivalent of a smoking gun). We didn't lose our charter. Nobody went to the hospital that year - in fact, nobody went to the hospital until years later, when GI Mark tried to stunt on my new mountainbike and broke his wrist.

However popular the Pumpkin Carving mixer was (and is), my unfortunate legacy is the Hungry Hungry Hippos party.

Earlier that year, we had gotten into trouble for something. Nobody remembers what exactly, but it must've had something to do with alcohol. Everything had something to do with alcohol. This was Cleveland in the winter, what else was there?

some of my guys
Now on probation, it was up to us to get ourselves off the hook. We chose the path of least resistance, which was to show Greek Life that we are indeed capable of throwing a completely law-abiding party.

For the record: Nobody is capable of throwing a completely law-abiding party. Nobody. The Mormon Church couldn't pull it off. It is impossible. There are just too many rules... while the Social Chair is busy ensuring that there is an abundance of unsalted snack food (yes, unsalted snack food), the minors will be running amok.

If you ever want a demonstration of entropy, try to separate a dozen 18 year old Ohioans from cheap beer on a Friday night.

So we threw an official party, submitting all of the requisite paperwork to the proper offices well before the deadlines. Our official guest list was just shy 80, above which we'd have to hire a security guard. Our official flyer was unoffensive, unimaginative, and fit every guideline.

Of course, we didn't post any flyers, nor did we tell anyone about the party. In fact, we banned everyone, including the residents, from the house. "Tonight, you can go drink somewhere else". They went to someone's apartment to play Beer Pong, because there isn't much else to do in Cleveland (have you picked up on the theme here? Parents, don't send your kids to school in Cleveland). The only invitees were a couple of the fraternity officers, our trusted dates, and the Greek Life office.

Unexpectedly, Ivan showed up too. Ivan is a guy who eventually graduated after 7 years of undergrad. He majored in Electrical Engineering, Mechanical Engineering, and Computer Engineering. Ivan is undoubtedly the most notorious prankster in the history of CWRU. I honestly wouldn't be surprised to hear that Ivan is now one of the richest men in America, nor would I be surprised to hear that he is in jail.

We played Poker, although without money, which took all the fun out of it. Then we played Trivial Pursuit. The house was eerily quiet. Too quiet. Towards the end of the game, Grainy burst through the door.

God bless Grainy, the last of a generation. Grainy was a 5th-year senior EE, a brother who'd joined during an era when the motto must've been "work hard and play hard". He had a 4.0 GPA and was a sucker for inventive drinking games. He was the captain of the Cross Country Team, and he drank more than the rest of his team put together.

Grainy, who is now the proud father of two adorable boys, was drunk. Apparently he hadn't gotten the memo, and he'd come to the house looking to wrangle up some company. As the reality of our party dawned on him, he shifted gears from happy-drunk to belligerent-drunk. This was a bad thing. In a fit of rage, he knocked over our bowl of unsalted snack food. Eventually Ivan and his ladyfriend got Grainy out the door, promising to take him to a bar.

I never found out if they followed through or not. A few minutes later, when we'd switched from Trivial Pursuit to Hungry Hungry Hippos, the director of Greek Life walked in. Never the sort to wear a poker face, he shot us a dirty look, implicitly accusing us of being a front for behind-the-scenes debauchery. This was a perfectly reasonable expectation, and it came as no surprise that he immediately took a lap around the house.

Finding nothing, the director came back to the lounge laughing. "You really threw a party for six people? This is how you throw a by-the-books party?" In my eagerness to send a message to The Man, to fight for my right to party, I'd neglected to account for the bullshit-detection capabilities of my adversaries at Greek Life. Somehow, though, they let us off the hook.

I wish I could claim that I'd out-maneuvered Greek Life, that I had outwitted them in a cunning display of diplomacy. In reality, they probably just ran out of patience or felt they had bigger fish to fry, what with a certain bunch of ass-hats across the street (let's call them Gay-ta Psi) putting their pledges in the hospital.

No longer on probation, we were free to go back to business-as-usual, where the unspoken rule is "its only illegal if you do it so obviously that Greek Life can't ignore it". However, even years later, I haven't been allowed to forget what the director himself named the Hungry Hungry Hippos Party.