Delta Rho Upsilon Gamma

This is the third story of the John Shmee Detective Series.

I went to my adviser's office to confirm my funding as a research assistant for the upcoming semester. ``So am I funded?'' I asked.

``Actually, you will be working as a teaching assistant with Professor Jones.''

``Teaching assistant? Aren't you happy with my research?''

``Yes, I am happy with your research, but there is a teaching requirement in your program. I am just making sure that you fulfill it.''

``Teaching requirement? Since when has there been a teaching requirement?''

``We had a faculty meeting last week and decided to institute one because there is a shortage of qualified TAs for our classes.''

``All the masters students would kill to TA. What do you mean shortage?''

``The emphasis is on the word qualified. Besides, wouldn't you like to be prepared for a job in academia? You should have some TA experience on your resume. Anyway, you will be the TA for an undergraduate theory class.''

``I guess that is better than teaching teenagers to program in Pascal.''

``We don't use Pascal anymore.''

``C? Java? Whatever.''

``Actually, you will be teaching them a theoretical language called WHILE.''

``Not Post-Turing then.''

``They are undergrads, not PhD students.''

I decided that if I was going to have to teach, I should at least consider myself lucky that I had a reasonably interesting class to teach. I would have to solve the homeworks, grade the students' submissions, proctor the exams, solve the exams, grade the exams, and sit in the TA room for three hours a week for office hours.

The semester went by quickly until one of the students in my class, a coed named Lisa, came into office hours. Lisa was a curvy blonde with pleasant features and sorority letters on her teeshirt.

``I'm sorry that I missed the last homework. Someone slipped me a roofie and I had to recover,'' she said.

``Who slipped you a roofie?'' I was skeptical because students are known to lie when making excuses, but this might be something to check out.

``One of the brothers at Delta Rho Upsilon Gamma. I was at a party there Saturday night. I think his name is Chad.'' She twirled her hair.

``That is pretty specific. Okay, I will let you turn it in late,'' I said.

``Thank you so much, Mr. Shmee!'' She bounced out of the TA room.



I decided that the best way to approach the fraternity was to attend their upcoming Halloween party. It was supposed to be a costume party, so I decided to go dressed as a graduate student. I put on blue jeans, an old polo shirt, a Clarkson sweatshirt, and sneakers.

When I went into the party, I found people dressed in all sorts of wild costumes. To the party goers credit, it appeared that they made the costumes themselves. A fraternity brother stopped me. ``What are you dressed as?''

``A grad student.''

``You look like a grad student. Do you know one of the brothers?''

``Yeah, Chad is in the class I TA.''

``Chad? Hmmm. You must have the name confused. Anyway, we are always happy to have TAs.''

``Thanks.''

I looked around the room. A girl dressed as a marijuana leaf was about ten feet ahead of me. I approached her. ``Where do you get a marijuana leaf costume?''

``I made it. What are you dressed as?''

``Your mother must be so proud. I'm dressed as a grad student.''

``That's funny. There is a guy dressed as a college student over there. I think that he is freaking out,'' she said.

``Oh wow, I'll be back.''

I went up to the guy the girl indicated. When he saw me approaching he said, ``Oh man, don't eat me!''

``What?''

``Oh wow. I took like three hits of acid and these costumes are freaking me out.''

``I see. Why don't you stick with me.''

``Okay, man. I trust you.''

So I made my way back to the fraternity brother that had asked me what I was dressed as, stopping every so often to grab the acidhead's arm and pull him along with me. When I got to him, I said, ``My friend here had a little too much LSD. Maybe you can get him help or something.''

``Oh, you know Chris? Chris are you alright?'' the brother said.

``I'm freaking out!'' Chris said.

``Don't worry, we have a room you can come down in. It's got a tie died sheet. It'll keep you entertained for hours.''

``By the way, what is your name?'' I asked.

``Bill. You?''

``John. John Shmee.''

``Okay. I'm going to take Chris upstairs. I'll talk to you later. Maybe you can get baked with us sometime.''

``Yeah, that sounds like fun.'' Finding Chris was a stroke of luck. Now they were telling me about their drugs.

``I'll catch you after I get Chris settled. We all know how it can be with the acid.''

I milled around the party, before remembering that I promised to talk to Miss Marijuana again. I found her outside, puking into a bush. ``Are you alright?'' I asked.

``I'm so drunk! I'm so drunk!'' she screeched.

``I would hold your hair, but your costume seems to have that covered.''

``Thanks. You are sweet. What was your name again?''

``John.''

``You know John, you could take me home and smoke me, if you want.''

``Hmmm. That sounds inviting. Do you have friends at the party?''

``Yeah, my sorority sisters. Maybe I should find them.''

``That might be a good idea.'' With that I went back inside. This was how fraternity parties usually went. It seemed surprising that they would feel the need to slip anyone a roofie.



A few days later I got wired up to go ``get baked'' with the fraternity brothers. I don't like drugs, but sometimes you have to imbibe to get the information. One good thing about the drugs is that they make people say things that they wouldn't admit otherwise.

I brought a case of beer with me to the fraternity. That sort of thing always helps one get accepted more quickly. I was brought into the living room where I sat on a couch. Bill and Chris were there, as well as a bunch of people I didn't know. Introductions were made and then Bill pulled out a marijuana pipe.

He filled it with a bud from bag in his pocket. He lit it, inhaled deeply, and passed it to the person next to him. Soon it reached me. I tried to appear to take a deep hit without getting any in my lungs, but I blew it and coughed dryly. The pot started to warp my brain. I passed the pipe on.

``One of my students said that she fell asleep at one of your parties a couple of weeks ago,'' I said.

``A lot of people pass out in our parties. What's her name?'' Bill said.

``Lisa,'' I said.

``Doesn't ring a bell.''

``She said that she was hanging with a brother named Chad.''

``We don't have a Chad. Maybe she was at a different fraternity.''

``I suppose so.'' Or someone gave her an alias.

``We like your solutions to the homeworks.'' Bill said.

``Say what?''

``The solutions you pass out to the homeworks. We file them in our scholarship room for future semesters.''

``Isn't that cheating?''

``Not really, all the fraternities and sororities do it.''

``I'll have to keep that in mind. Say this is some powerful shit that we are smoking. I'd like to meet your connection.''

``It's homegrown.'' Bill said.

``You mean you grow it yourself? Right here?''

``Yeah, down in the basement.''

A voice in my earpiece said, ``We're getting a warrant.''

``Shit!'' Chris said. ``It's time for the Bundies.''

``The Bundies?'' I asked.

``Married with Children is in syndication. He insists on watching it.'' Bill grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, flipping through the channels until the song Love and Marriage came on to announce the start of the Bundies.

I don't watch television, and frankly, sitcoms bore me. But with the marijuana buzz going, the Bundies seemed fascinating. In this episode, the Bundys' neighbor Jefferson turns out to be ex-CIA, like me, and someone comes to blackmail him with pictures of him with world leaders.

I watched the show with my head humming and my brain trying to crawl out of my skull. This fraternity sure knew how to grow some powerful marijuana. I decided to walk home and sleep off the buzz when the show was over, so I said goodbye to everyone.

When I got back to my apartment, my Chinese roommate Bruce asked me in Chinese if I was alright.

``Just got into some bad beer,'' I said. ``I'll talk to you in the morning.'' With that I went in my room, undressed and got in bed.

On my way to lecture for the theory class that I was teaching, I picked up a copy of the school newspaper, The Integrator. There was a banner headline that could be read by spy satellites. It said, ``FRATERNITY RAIDED---POT PLANTS SEIZED.''

I walked to class reading the newspaper which claimed that the raid was the result of a long investigation triggered by a fraternity brother giving a tip. That was bull but it would help the police get the brothers to turn on each other in the investigation. Eventually the search warrant application would have to be released to the defense attorneys, but by then it would be too late.

When I got to class, I signalled to Lisa to come see me after class. The professor gave a brilliant lecture, as usual. As usual, the students didn't appreciate how much effort the professor put into preparing and delivering the lecture. It was a typical class.

After the lecture Lisa came to me and said, ``What's up? Did I do something wrong?''

I showed her the headline on the Integrator and said, ``They aren't going to be slipping anyone anymore roofies.''

``Oh my God!'' she said. ``You didn't call the police did you? That was just an excuse to turn my homework in late.''