Location: Ames Hall
Time: Monday morning
Real Scenario: Two girls are talking to each other before class. The first girl jokes, “I don’t befriend people who have bad eyebrows.” The second girl nods her head and exclaims, “Oh, I get that. It’s kind of like my friend who refuses to be friends with fat people.”
Imagined Backstory: The first girl, Mary Anne, already knows the aforementioned friend. Of course, she doesn’t admit it. It’s part of the club rules — specifically Section 3, Article 1 that says, “Friendship outside of the club between members is prohibited to maintain the club’s underground secrecy.”
It took Mary Anne six months to get admitted into the club, and now every Monday at 9 p.m., she goes to The Charles. She climbs two flights of stairs and arrives at apartment 205, not waiting even a second to rap her fist against the door. She hears the patter of socked feet against wood crescendo and then silence, before the door is flung open to reveal the club’s president. The president extends a palm out, and Mary Anne silently hands her iPhone over, knowing she’ll get it back at the end. Just security precautions, she reminds herself.
Throughout the week, Mary Anne has been replaying the previous meeting in her head. After all, it had been a memorable one. She had arrived in a huff, out of breath and sweaty after having woken up later than planned from her nap. The president had given her a critical look but nevertheless, let her in. And the meeting had commenced.
“I’d like to propose an amendment that says members must arrive in a respectable state for meetings or else have their membership revoked,” the president said with a pointed look at Mary Anne. “All in favor say ‘aye.’”
A chorus of ‘ayes’ filled the room. The president directed her attention to another girl and said, “Martha, go make the change in the book.” When Martha began to protest, not wanting to miss the meeting, the president narrowed her eyes. Her composure crumpling, Martha shot up from her chair and scurried out of the room. The president sighed, dramatically.
“I don’t even know why we let her stay. She’s been getting fat lately, and you guys know how I feel about fat people,” she said. Murmurs of agreement filtered through the room. “Now that I’ve given us the perfect segue, let’s get started with the real meeting. Mary Anne, you go first.”
Mary Anne took a steadying deep breath. “So last week, I know I talked about how I just can’t befriend people with acne or people whose noses are too big — like, the least they could do for everyone is get a nose job. Anyway, this week I’ve started realizing that I just can’t be friends with people with bad eyebrows.”
“I feel exactly the same way,” another girl exclaimed. “How are we supposed to expect them to put effort into a friendship when they can’t even put effort into their own eyebrows?”
“It obviously shows that they have a major character flaw. This is why I don’t talk to fat people, like, if you can’t control your weight, I can’t expect you to be a good friend,” the president added on.
Another girl spoke up this time. “I wouldn’t say the reasoning is similar, but I can’t stand people who smile too much. I mean, no one is that happy all the time, and something about befriending liars just doesn’t sit well with me.”
And then each girl began contributing.
“I just wouldn’t be friends with someone who wears mustard yellow anything. That color was not meant for anyone’s skin tone.”
“What about people with bad teeth? Those are the people we really need to stay away from. If you can’t afford braces, you’re obviously too poor to be a good friend.”
“I’m convinced that people with dark eyes — and I’m talking about so dark, it’s going on black — are not to be trusted. I feel like they’re devil worshippers or something.”
Martha came back into the room and took her seat. “My ex-best friend slept with my boyfriend, and ever since then, I don’t befriend girls who sleep around. I don’t want to be constantly worrying about them stealing my boyfriend,” she said.
Silence fell over the room, discomfort flitting across each member’s face. Mary Anne shifted in her seat. Finally, the president said, “Martha, we don’t slut shame in here. It says so in Section 1, Article 3, so I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Permanently.”
Martha jerked out of her seat, her lips parted as if she wanted to say something. She didn’t. Instead, she rushed out of the apartment, and the room fell back into easy conversation.
“Thank God we finally got rid of her. She really has been getting fat,” the president said.
