Halfway through my freshman year of college, I received a phone call from an acquaintance with whom I had graduated high school. He informed me that he had just transferred to my university, knew no one, and wanted to be shown around. Never passing up an opportunity to save a friend from the purgatory that is the life of a GDI, I invited him to a party planned for the coming weekend. After hanging up the phone, I remembered that he belonged to the most obnoxiously Mormon family in my hometown. I then made a note to not let myself get too fucked up during the coming night: I wanted to remember this.

Unfortunately, I found out the dude partied like he belonged to some loophole-exploiting, unexpectedly cool Mormon fraternity at his previous institution of higher learning. He told me multiple times throughout the night that this was his “first party” and he couldn’t believe how “lucky” he was to be here. I don’t believe that one bit. Not only did he beat me with the infamous ring-of-fire in a game of pong, but he did so without missing a single shot. It was as impactful a moment as Picasso discovering his ability to paint, or Donny Trump discovering his ability to sexually assault women without consequence. He then proceeded to drink me under the table, smoke me out, then effortlessly pull a dime who looked like what can only be described as the (impossible, tragically) lovechild of Margot Robbie and Blake Lively. At that point, I was no longer attempting to show a high school acquaintance the beauty of Greek life; I was on a quest to get this natural-born partier to pledge my fraternity.

When I asked him to come hang out with us again, he respectfully declined and told me that he wanted to look at other houses. While disappointing, the situation was understandable; I knew that our chances of signing him were gone at that point. He was a five-star recruit in the Greek world, and other houses had more to offer at the time. I wished him the best, and didn’t talk to him again until over one year later, when I invited him to a massive party we were throwing to celebrate a girl’s dog’s birthday or some other pointless shit like that.

He showed up to the house a little before the party started, and right away it was obvious that a year away from home had done him dirty. He looked like your average heroin-abusing Skid Row resident, but even still his health was apparently the thing least damaged by his full-blown addiction to partying. He told me that over the past year, he had been put on academic probation, was dropped from two different houses, and no longer belonged to the Mormon church. I was too impressed by his lifestyle to feel guilty for introducing him to this life of sin. It takes talent to get excommunicated from both the Greek community and the the Latter Day Saint movement. I send nothing but my utmost respect his way.

I’m positive that my role in leading a young, God-fearing Mormon to the Nineveh that is Greek row has secured a spot for me in Hell. Then again, joining a fraternity has probably also gained a spot for me in Hell as well. I was just trying to do the right thing for a friend in need. Instead, I learned this: give a Mormon a party, and he shall have fun for a night. Expose a Mormon to Greek life, and he shall have fun until he flunks out of school, gets blackballed by two houses, and has his church membership revoked..