—by Mary Raunikar Page

When I was doing my master’s degree at Arizona State University, I got a request to play at a dinner party. I arrived at a rather inconspicuous house, and when I went inside there stood a handful of young men. They introduced themselves as officers from a fraternity, and I set up and began to play. As more people arrived, it occurred to me (as someone who had never been involved in Greek life) that this was actually a bona fide frat party. 

The place became increasingly loud, and it was soon apparent that I was there as decoration and not necessarily to provide any audible music. Many people offered me drinks throughout the evening. One very tipsy young woman offered me a sangria and asked if I hated it there. True to my contract, I played until my time was up, but when I packed up, I found my car had been boxed into the driveway. It took some time for someone to locate the president, who was “occupied” somewhere. When he was available to let me out, he was polite and apologetic. 

I didn’t hate the gig. I didn’t accept any drinks. And I certainly won’t forget my first frat party. •