6 P.M. My fixer, a 19-year-old sophomore at the University of Southern Ca, texts me saying she no further seems “safe” or “comfortable” with this plan (to help keep her anonymous, we will phone her “Cindy”).
We had been planning to crash a frat party, go out, to discover what goes on. Simply an instant anthropological jaunt into the crude and increasingly vexing mating rites of university Greeks.
Getting use of frat parties as being a female that is young easy. The sole needs are a college ID card and an attitude that is plucky. Most of the USC frats and sororities are crammed on up to a residential block so if we strike away engaging in one household, we’re able to easily scamper over to another.
But tonight, Cindy notifies me, the events are now being held from the row. A couple of years ago|years which can be few, the University place a moratorium on events during Rush Week in a bid to refurbish the University’s image.