Priscilla Tonman III

A Few Good Men

I awoke abruptly to the sound of three, slow and deliberate knocks. This was one of those moments I was so happy I did not have a roommate. Being a sophomore has its perks, and privacy was a perk I was not willing to sacrifice for anything. I threw back my Tommy Hilfiger Hibiscus Hill Duvet unwillingly. It was pretty cold, and my heater – my stupid, busted heater – was not being effective at doing its job. I slipped into my Comfy Toes slippers and padded to the door. I looked like a mess probably, but this was what  you get when you knocked at 4:20am.

I opened the door cautiously, but no one was there. I looked down and saw a pristine, cream colored envelope on the floor with my name hand written on it. I opened the envelope, and my heart rate increased a little as I read the first line. It said, “It was a pleasure meeting you last night, Ms. Tonman. The University Cottage Club would like to invite you to take part in the bicker process tomorrow night at Cottage at 7pm. We look forward to seeing you again.” It was signed by Eric Williams Jr., President of Cottage. I wondered if he was the one who invited me to the bicker process. I mean, let’s face it, I didn’t meet anyone else at Cottage. Eric must have seen something he liked, which is weird, seeing as all he could seem to do was laugh at me.

Anyway, while this was exciting, I had an Anthropology quiz tomorrow with Professor Sheldon, so sleep was a must. As I returned to my bed however, my iPhone buzzed. Surprise, surprise, it was Laura. Did you get in?! she typed. Too tired to respond at the moment, I ignored her text and went back to bed.

                                                                             *****

The next morning classes went by slowly as usual. But there was a certain buzz in the air that signaled the beginning of the bicker process at Princeton’s exclusive and elusive eating clubs. Two sophomore girls in my Biology 210 class would not stop hollering about Cap and Gown club. “Did you see…” “I know… but…”

This was fan-freakin-tastic.

It turned out Laura did get into Cottage. It’s comforting to know that sucking up still has its advantages and is still effective. She seemed a little, no scratch that, very surprised to hear I’d gotten a bicker bid too. Her eyes widened when I told her, but as a world class sycophant, she was apt at hiding her true emotions. She told me she was delighted for both of us, and couldn’t wait till we went through the bicker together. Well, at least she was genuine about that part.

It was a curious topic for me too. Every club had its own bicker process. Cottage’s bicker process was not difficult as Ivy Club, I’ve heard, but it was close. As any of the selective eating clubs, only the ‘crème de la crème’ gained entry to the country’s best networks.

I met Tommy for dinner that night at Café Frist, our favorite place for a quick bite. As I lined up for my salad, he waited with me to get his sandwich. I noticed he looked a little distracted today, and looked like he had a lot on his mind.

“What’s up, dude? You look … off.” For lack of a better word, and as usual, my eloquence was non-existent. He looked up at me and paused, before replying, “Are you really serious about Cottage? It doesn’t seem your style.” My favorite thing about Tommy aside from his quirky, sarcastic sense of humor? His straightforwardness. No beating around the bush with this guy.

“My style?” I asked intriguingly, “What do you mean? You don’t  think I am good enough for them?” I wasn’t offended, just curious. Tommy and I were too close to be sensitive over stuff like this. “Au contraire, I think you are too good for them,” he said, simultaneously grabbing a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich.

“What, really. I’m surprised they even invited me to the bicker process. I didn’t think I showed interest at all! Not the way Laura does,” I said, adjusting my H&M black military jacket.

“Laura Ritter is so enthusiastic that one day, everyone realizes its fake,” he grumbled. “I just can’t believe you didn’t try Tiger Inn! I told you you’d get in for sure. I’d make sure of that!”

I shook my head. “I know, and you know how that would annoy me, giving you such power over my social life,” I joked. “Besides, I’m not keen on eating clubs really, it’s just Laura who dragged me as her wing woman.”

“But if you get in, will you do it?” Tommy challenged. Not one to back down, I see.

“I don’t know, depends if I like the people, I guess.” I mean, really, who knows? So far, I’ve only met El Presidente. And that didn’t go too well. I changed the subject and began talking about my biology project, which got Tommy more excited. He was pre-med, so anything biological would get him going. I was glad we stopped talking about Cottage, because Tommy actually looked seriously irritated that I was even considering joining.

I left the Café and began walking to Cottage. I wondered what they had in stall for us tonight. There was a girl with strawberry blonde hair who I recognized in my Chinese history class standing at the door. She smiled at me and said, “Hi Priscilla, go on inside and you’ll find out what to do. Good luck!” She giggled. Ominous stuff.

The moment I walked in I knew this was going to be annoying. The room was rearranged –the rocking chair was moved all the way to the back of the room – and there were long tables all aligned next to each other. On the tables were about twenty giant, Tupperware bowls filled with jello and whipped cream. Definitely a bad sign.

I spotted Eric, who cleared his throat deliberately and declared, “Welcome back, participants. This is the first round of the bicker process.” He look at the twenty sophomores standing in front of him. I saw Laura smile nervously at me, and I saw her bite her lip. He continued, “Only the fastest and most elegant eaters will continue to the next round. Speed, but style too.” He smiled. “So everyone take a bowl of jello please.” We all lined up along the tables. “On your marks, get set, GO.”

I picked up the spoon next to the bowl and turned to my right. The Latina girl next to me was already ten percent done. I ate one bite, and it was not too bad, so I took another bite, more quickly. Sad thing is, competition has always been my strength and weakness, so I did my best to finish that jello as quickly as I could. There was cheering from the eating club members, and I thought I even heard my name being yelled by a guy. Eric, maybe? About a minute later, I heard an even louder cheer as an Asian boy on my far right finished. I scooped up my last three bites and swallowed it. By now I was sure whipped cream was all over my face. I wiped my face as gracefully as I could and put down my spoon. Another cheer went up. I finished fourth place. Not bad.

Alejandro, the Latino from the door last night, tapped my shoulder and grinned. “I’m impressed with you, chica. Classily done!” he said. I thanked him, and he dragged me over to a fierce looking girl with amazing black hair, and brilliant hazel eyes. “Aliana, you must meet Priscilla!” Aliana looked at me for three seconds without saying a word, then said, “Pleasure to meet you. Well done on the jello,” she drawled. She had a southern twang to her accent. Alabama maybe?

“Thanks. I grew up in a huge house, so it was eat or be left hungry. That’s how I made it to Princeton.” I joked. Aliana raised her beautifully arched eyebrows. I realized I said the wrong thing, when suddenly she laughed a curt, but genuine laugh. “Wow, okay, I’m impressed. A sense of hunger and a sense of humor. Exactly what we’re looking for.” Alejandro laughed too. He then dragged me around for another twenty minutes to meet other eating clubbers. They were all very impressive and confident of themselves, and most achieved that air of confidence without tripping over into arrogance, like Aliana. I didn’t see Eric at all though, which was weird. I also didn’t see Laura afterwards – she must have left early.

After about an hour of mingling, Alejandro finally let me go. My face was about to fall off from smiling so much, and from laughing to fill the awkward silences that were inevitable from talking to people you just met. When I returned to my room, I saw another pristine envelope, this time, it was slotted into my room. I opened it excitedly – oh well, this was a once in a lifetime opportunity, so might as well enjoy it – and it was another invitation, which simply said, “Firestone library entrance – Midnight.”

Ok – this was completely sketchy, but I guess it was part of the bicker process, and it also meant I made it through to the second round. I really hope this was not a pathetic imitation of Skull and Bones at Yale. I’ve seen the movies, and I’ve heard the tales.

Let’s just hope that life doesn't imitate art this time around.