Brutally honest confessions of a Recruitment Chair

If you’re a member of a sorority, you know how much rush can suck. Heck, even if you’re not Greek, you’ve heard the stories. But first off, unless you want a lecture from your president, you can’t call it rush – you must call it recruitment.

And unless you want your Recruitment Chair to breathe literal fire, you have to show up early, smile endlessly and coordinate your outfits to her specifications.

Recruitment is a stressful process for you, I get it. Honestly, active sister – who just asked the Facebook page what time tomorrow’s round starts, yet neglected to check the email you just received – I feel your pain. But, unfortunately, I’m going to have to ask you to stop complaining.

Put down your iPhone. Stop snapping. Stop texting. Stop tweeting. Sweetheart, whatever grievance you’re about to air isn’t worth the 140 characters. I promise.

While you’re whining about having to sit next to Sarah on Preference Night – because she totally made out with your ex-whatever-he-is at a party last week and that’s just not very sisterly – you’re neglecting to see there is one person who wants to cry right now more than you.

Hey. Hi. Hello. It’s me – your Recruitment Chair.

Why? Because when this round is over, you get to take off your Jack Rogers and skip home. But me? I’m likely sleeping on the floor of the house covered head-to-toe in glitter.

At this point, I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve been told I have “snarky” email etiquette – sorry not sorry I offended you with my periods and capital letters. I haven’t seen the inside of my eyelids in over 72 hours.

I haven’t been to class in three days and I’ve consumed enough coffee that an IV would be a feasible alternative to the plastic mug in my hand. Yesterday, the only food I consumed was a roll and three cheese cubes from the Preference Night table.

Seriously, sometimes I ask myself why I campaigned for this position. And I’m also certain I’ve sold my soul to Sam’s Club at least a dozen times, but I digress.

I know you think I’m a joke. You think my job is easy. You think I sprinkle some glitter, order some Bojangles for Bid Day and call it quits. You think everything else just falls into place. You think I’m being dramatic.

Planning recruitment? Anyone can do that, right? Wrong.

You don’t notice, but I’m moving mountains to pull this thing off, all while wearing my highest heels. I may appear to have it all together, but internally? I’m frazzled.

 

I’m making a continuous list of what to buy and who to place where. I’m quizzing myself on Potential New Members – the tall blonde plays club volleyball and the little brunette went to Macy’s high school. I think I’ve got it.

For two weeks, my brain doesn’t stop. Recruitment never sleeps.

So, before you make that snotty remark about my choice in outfits, why don’t you think about this: recruitment is my life. All the cares I have to give, I’ve given to recruitment. All of my concern has been placed on the beautiful, smart and talented PNMs who walked through the house doors a few days ago.

What does this mean? It means I have absolutely no cares left to give to you, sister who has yet to discover the difference between black and navy. Because it’s not about you.

You probably think I’m crazy – and, hey, I volunteered to be a Recruitment Chair so maybe you should go ahead and commit me. But to be honest, I love this job and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

I deal with all of the nonsense. I deal with a lot of tears – because if I didn’t cry in a Party City, did recruitment really happen? I put up with the madness. Often, I find myself lying on the floor at 2am laughing uncontrollably at hate mail and snotty text messages and impossible requests.

Once, I even ended up in the ER, but that’s a story for a different day. And it’s because all I want is for everything to be as magical for this group of new members as it was for me.

Do you remember what it was like when you were a freshman? You were about to embark on one hell of journey and it was scary. You didn’t know what you were getting into, but you knew you were excited.

Older girls loved you and they’d only just met you. They bent over backwards to make you feel like the most important person in the room. You felt at home, you felt loved, you felt something you’d never felt before – sisterhood.

Don’t you want these girls to feel that way too? Because one day these girls won’t be new members anymore. They’ll be actives. They’ll be the face of our chapter. They’ll be the Vice President, the Social Chair, the New Member Educator – and yes, even the Recruitment Chair.

Recruitment always comes to an end, and – as always – my sanity returns. And, when that happens, I’ll finally be slightly less irritated at you for forgetting how to clap on beat for the second year in a row.

But for now, before you compose that hateful message to the girl across the room, remember this: we’re all doing this for a reason.