I was originally going to write about all the frats, but after thoroughly exploring Beta, I realized I really did not want to.

If you’ve ever walked into a house lit by glowing purple lights, with rainbow streamers tangled in the ceiling fan, empty Cleve cups littering every surface, and, for some reason, a broken lawn chair right in the middle of the living room, congratulations. You’ve found Beta.

You walk in and are overpowered by the same sensory experience you have when you’re hungover: Everything’s dim and disorienting, and it smells like regret.

From the looks of it, the house pretty much looks the same as it does at night, except now, you can actually see everything: the couch stains, the leftover plates, the glowing TV that someone left on, those one or two members who are finally going to bed — at 11 a.m.  

The other thing about Beta during the day is that it is deathly quiet. You’ll hear the front door slam open now and then, but you never know if it’s someone coming in or out, and they’re usually already gone by the time you try to find out. 

I meant to explore the basement as well, to see what became of all the lost hoodies, sparkly cowboy hats and neon bracelets, but I was too spooked by the feeling of being followed. Not by anyone around, just by the framed photos of men smiling stiffly from composite shots, watching me like disappointed ancestors. Also by the dancing Santa doll, stuck in what looked like a mid-Nazi salute, its batteries dead, forever cursed to witness everything.

So, just like a TKE pledge in 2022, I left the frat.