41. Pegged with Eggs

41. Pegged with Eggs

From Chicken Soup for the Soul: Campus Chronicles

Pegged with Eggs

Women do most delight in revenge.

~Sir Thomas Browne

I usually end up dreading the things that most people find fun. I do my best not to let on — my friends and family mostly think I’m a pretty social guy, but I only pretend to be enthused at parties and family reunions. So it was a dumb decision for me to accept an invitation from a pretty college friend named Melissa to attend her sorority’s fall formal. It was going to be held in an old warehouse in Knoxville that had been turned into a nightclub, and I was going to have to dress up. It was a wallflower’s nightmare, but she was pretty, I got caught up in the moment, and now I was obligated.

I met Melissa in her dorm room the night of the formal and spent half an hour watching her finish fixing her hair. I could tell that she spent a lot of money and effort trying to look good for the night — her dress was red-carpet worthy, her nails were French manicured. She did look good, and it softened my mood a little.

She opened up her mini fridge and tossed me a beer. “We’re taking busses over to the club,” she said. “So feel free to drink.” I asked her whether everyone else was going to be drunk at the formal. “Oh no,” she said. “No one’s going to be drunk. Our sorority is known around campus as the really classy one.”

What happened while we waited for the bus suggested otherwise. One of the girls in Melissa’s sorority was stumbling back and forth across the Wendy’s parking lot where the bus was supposed to meet us. She fell backwards into her date’s arms, and her left shoulder strap somehow got too low. She covered up quickly, but the damage was already done.

Something even more unexpected happened as the group of us stood in the parking lot that night. I hadn’t known that the rivalry between sororities was so fierce. Girls walked by us in everyday attire, rolling their eyes and shaking their heads. Some of them muttered insults as they passed.

It wasn’t until I felt the first egg hit my chest that I understood the degree of this contention.

A blue Ford Mustang peeled around the corner with a girl leaning out the passenger window, yelling obscenities and giving us the finger. Then the eggs were upon us. Melissa was hit in the stomach and the guy beside me took one in the ear. The girl who was overexposed earlier felt like she needed to regain her dignity, I guess, so she lunged in front of a number of us like a soldier diving on a grenade, and was immediately pummeled with grade As. Those who weren’t hit directly were blasted with ricochet.

When the car screeched out of sight, we were left to pick up the pieces. Melissa had fallen to her knees and was sobbing quietly, whispering something about her dress. Courageous boob girl lay on the pavement, covered in egg and motionless. A few of the men in the group tried to chase after the Mustang, but it was useless. We had been utterly defeated by a surprise attack from a rival sorority. Girls on the pavement swore revenge. I looked down at the yellow tie I had picked to match Melissa’s dress. Ruined.

Soon the busses came, and most of the sorority and their dates piled in with heavy hearts. Before I could step on, Melissa grabbed my arm and pulled me away. “We’re going after the eggers,” she said. She was looking down at her cell phone. “I sent a text alert out for the blue Mustang all over Knoxville, and I should get a response in a second.” No sooner had she finished her sentence than her phone rang.

Minutes later, I found myself in Melissa’s car, barreling down the road. The radio was off and she wasn’t talking — the girl wasn’t happy. She was leaning real far over the steering wheel and breathing heavily. Egg dripped down her cleavage.

The blue Mustang had been spotted outside a McDonald’s. “When we get there, what exactly are we planning to do?” I finally asked. “Do you think we should maybe just leave it alone?”

Melissa slammed on the brakes and turned to me. “Do you know how much this dress cost?” she growled. “Do you know much these shoes cost? I got my hair done at four this afternoon. Do you know how much that cost? I have yolk underneath my manicured nails. This girl disrespected my sorority, my clothing, and my date. Do you really think I’m going to let her get away with it?”

I shook my head. “Good,” she muttered.

We pulled into the McDonald’s moments later. Melissa reached over and took off my ruined tie, and then told me to take off my jacket. “I want you to go in there and order two large Cokes,” she said. “The girls won’t recognize you.” I nodded and got out of the car.

“What do I do after I get the drinks?” I asked, before shutting the door.

“I’ll be in there in a minute,” she said. “You’ll know what do.”

I walked into the McDonald’s and slowly made my way towards the counter, spotting the eggers on the way. I bought the drinks and turned around just in time to watch Melissa walk through the door. She was wearing a T-shirt and shorts — she always kept dirty clothes in the back of her car. Her hair was still up. The eggers didn’t seem to find anything out of place, though, because Melissa walked right up to them and began a smile-filled conversation. She stood at the side of their table, and I approached from behind, unnoticed.

“What sorority are you girls in?” Melissa asked, beaming. The girls responded with the name of the rival sorority. Melissa grinned and I inched closer.

“Did you guys hear about what happened?” Melissa asked. “Someone threw a ton of eggs at a formal group. All their clothes were ruined!” Melissa laughed and the girls followed suit. During their laughter, she shot a glance at me and nodded. I knew what she wanted me to do, but I hesitated. What could this possibly solve? I would only be promoting more sorority warfare and wasting delicious beverages.

But then I thought about boob girl. I thought about her sacrifice for the group. I thought about her laying face down on the pavement, motionless and covered in eggs that had been targeted at others. And for that split second, I have to admit, I was filled with sorority pride.

The girls were stunned for a few seconds after the drinks drenched their heads, so Melissa slid their burgers into their laps. They screamed and shot out of their chairs but Melissa grabbed their shoulders and shoved them back down. Melissa took her hands off of them when they began to cry. They just sat there and mumbled words between sobs that I couldn’t understand. The McDonald’s employees began shouting at us to leave.

Although I hated every second of that night, I was still glad it happened. I quickly stopped feeling sorry for the girls I dumped drinks on — they had it coming.

~Michael Wassmer

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