Connie Blackballed You.
During fall of my freshman year, I met Jon, a junior with coal black eyes, long dark hair and red-tinted glasses. Jon was rail-thin and drawled his words, possibly because he was always high.
While college “dates” were rare, Jon was technically my first relationship in college. He obviously liked me and I obviously liked him. I am sure we met at a bar or a party but I don’t remember which.
Jon and I hung out regularly in his incense-enhanced room, talking about music and making out. I thought Jon was incredibly cool and my life’s goal was to be cool, so I did my best to fall in love.
Mostly I just thought he looked really good. That was enough for me until I realized that Jon was … well, rather dull. He was drop-dead gorgeous but it became obvious that we were not destined to have a lasting relationship.
Unfortunately, I had to delay my break-up decision after Connie stepped in. Connie started sitting next to me in math class, where we talked about everything except math. She asked me questions about what I did at parties, who I befriended, where I hung out. She especially asked me all about Jon, and I told her everything. Connie was a junior and she and Jon were friends.
Connie was the first person I’d ever met who treated me nicely, got close to me, and then shredded me behind my back. Sure, I’d been betrayed before. But until Connie, I had no idea people could be so cruel; I believed in our friendship. She was a junior, which made her practically an adult. As a freshman in college, I believed that adulthood and sainthood were the same thing.
I continued to tell Connie all the details of my time with Jon, every day in math class, until sorority rush loomed. Connie was in a sorority I liked, and – along with one other sorority – I was considering pledging. But a friend came to me one night and said, “I didn’t want to tell you this, but I think you should know.” She inhaled deeply. “Connie blackballed you.”
Blackballed me? What the heck did that even mean?
It turns out that sorority members can refuse to allow specific people into the sorority – like a cult but backwards. And Connie had specifically named me as someone who could never, ever be her sorority sister. I would never be allowed to be part of the Delta Delta Delta sorority.
To compensate for this, and to make myself feel “better,” I used this opportunity to get as drunk as was humanly possible … on a weeknight. That’s how I discovered that I could drink whether I had class the next day, or not.
I don’t remember if Jon and I spent time together after Connie made her true self known. He told me he wanted nothing to do with her and then I saw them together regularly afterward. Maybe she finally admitted that she liked him, and maybe he decided any female would do.
I remember thinking: gee, I can’t trust anyone. This was a new concept for me.
From Connie and Jon, I learned that people are slimy and horrible and mean. I learned that someone can hate me just because someone else likes me. Having been so rarely liked by guys previously – probably because I was sober and awkward – this situation never arose in high school.
Of course, Connie was just the beginning. I learned much harder, more painful reasons not to trust later.