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8:00am: I wake up and don (in record time) my black suit, black tie, and repainted Xbox headpiece; the required uniform of THE Secret Service Pledge for SGA President and Kappa brother President Powers Pratt III, or “Triple P,” as we in his elite inner circle have the elite privilege of calling him.
*Note to self: remember not to refer to him as Triple P out loud. I paid for it last time. Rookie mistake.
8:15am: I approach Triple P’s room in the Kappa fratcastle (codename: Fratcastle). I have clearance because, after all, I am THE Secret Service Pledge. One of the actives just tossed a beer to me, though it was a solid beam and it nailed me in the neck. Still caught it before it hit the ground. What can I say? I’m elite.
8:17am: I make sure Triple P’s walkway from his upstairs room to the front door of Fratcastle is clear. I report a few bogey broken glass bottles that might cause trouble. Kick them out of the way, like I kicked this one GDI out of Triple P’s way Saturday night. Triple P and I are bros.
8:20am: I knock on Triple P’s door to make sure he’s ready for his 8:30. He flings it open, and I automatically execute (with perfection, I might add) the designated salute, which actually means that I kneel before him and belt “Hail to the Chief” until he gives me permission to rise. He kicks me and says I knocked too loudly and almost woke up the First Slam. Rookie mistake.
*Note to self: don’t call her the First Slam out loud. I paid for it last time. Another rookie mistake.
8:21am: I give Triple P my beer as an offering. He shotguns it in a way I never could and throws the can at me. I catch it, like a true bro would, and throw it away. Not today, aluminum hazard. Triple P and THE Secret Service Pledge mean business.
8:25am: Triple P’s official motorcade to his classroom (codename: Eagle’s Nest) is en route. I execute the designated motorcade protocol by screaming, “MAKE WAY, MAKE WAY FOR THE PRESIDENT,” as loud as I can and hold his cigarette for him as we walk. I ignore the looks from literally everyone on campus because, hey, guess what? I’m THE Secret Service Pledge. Don’t fuck with me.
8:26am: Triple P scolds me for screaming too loudly near his ear. Rookie mistake.
8:29am: Triple P makes touchdown, repeat, touchdown, in his designated location. All secure. I execute my official, elite Secret Service Pledge duties by standing outside his classroom and profiling anyone who walks in while Triple P is in the premises. I’m probably the most badass person on campus, besides Triple P.
8:30am: The professor tells me to get to class when I stop him outside the door. I threaten to conduct a background check. He threatens to call campus police. (Hey, the more security for Triple P, the better.) I let him in. Just doing my job for my future brother.
9:20am: Triple P has left Eagle’s Nest. We are en route to his weekly meeting with the Dean of the College in the administrative offices (codename: Geneva). The Dean and Triple P in the same room? Welcome to the big league, boys. No worries though, because guess who’s on security detail? Yeah, THE Secret Service Pledge.
9:23am: A rogue frisbee from some ultra GDIs on the Quad enters Triple P’s airspace. I immediately, with no regard for my own safety, dive for it, hit it broadside with my face, then hit the ground rolling, and I’m back up. I’m about to frat-thrash the poor bastards who’ve just royally fucked up, but Triple P slaps my neck, yells at me to “hurry my bitchass up,” and tells the GDIs/terrorists to have a good day. Wow, what a guy! I’m so lucky.
9:30am: Triple P has made touchdown at codename Geneva. The dean gives me a weird look and asks if I should be in class somewhere. No can do, sir. I’ve got a frat star to protect. An ELITE frat star.
9:46:27am: I stand behind Triple P’s chair, like any Secret Serviceman should, during the meeting. The dean is going on about new student programs, new vegetarian meals in the dining hall, and some vandalism problems at the Beta house. Triple P just yawns and checks his watch.
9:46:29am: I yawn and check my watch.
11:01am: Triple P and I are now en route to the golf course (codename: Links). It’s Friday, so Triple P only has one class, and then, on a freedom scale of one to America (yeah, I implemented a one-to-America freedom scale for my president, don’t mention it), he’s America.
11:03am: A brother blatantly walks up to the motorcade and asks “What’s up, Powers?” First of all, no “President Pratt” or “Mr. President”? Who is this guy, some kind of communist? A cargo-short-wearing terrorist? I ignore his disrespect, but when he comes too close to Triple P, I spring into action and move to either frisk him, disarm him, or escort him from Triple P’s premises.
11:05am: I’m laying on the grass, looking up at the sky, and I can finally open my eyes without seeing stars. Triple P is telling me to “get the fuck up. I tee off in ten minutes.” I follow orders, like a frat bro, and get the fuck up.
1:05pm: We’ve been at codename Links for approximately two hours (all secure). Triple P’s golf cart (codename: Golf Cart One) is decked out with my custom-made ornamental American flags that fly from the rear rack. I also act, in my capacity as THE Secret Service Pledge, as both THE Caddy Pledge and THE Chauffeur Pledge. I don’t know how to put this, but in hindsight, I’m kind of a big deal.
1:45pm: Triple P and I are en route aboard Golf Cart One to the clubhouse. Kappa’s Vice President (codename: Not Triple P) is aboard Golf Cart Two behind us. He’s being driven by a lesser pledge (some, and by that I mean I, would call him my deputy) Carl.
*Note to self: Mention to Triple P that Carl may not be true, bro-like Kappa material. He tosses and turns and talks in his sleep, rambling about “the rat fuck Baxter,” his apparent cousin Cindy, and he wakes up screaming, “I’m not a monster, Mom!” I guess I know why they trusted that wannabe-GDI to drive GC2. Only real elite bros like THE Secret Service Pledge pilot GC1.
2:00pm: Motorcade has arrived at codename Fratcastle. Triple P, sadly, takes me off duty until Monday. He doesn’t even let me in to secure the perimeter! I try and convince him that I need to stay on duty. The theme party is tonight, he’s going to need a drink-tester, ground security, an STD record/background check from any potential slams, but in the middle of explaining all this, Triple P scolds me and tells me to “shut up and get busy scrubbing the trash cans in the basement with your best golf tees.” Rookie mistake.
Wow, President Powers Pratt III. What a guy. A true leader of men. He and I are a power punch bro-team of true frattery. I’m so lucky to put my life in the line of fire for my SGA president and, most importantly, my future frat bro.
Well, until Monday, this is THE Secret Service Pledge signing off. 10-4. Over and out. Triple P secure.