It all started with pinkeye. I mean, who gets pinkeye when they are 18 years old? I thought this ailment was of the preschool set of maladies, second cousin to head lice and cooties. But I was proven wrong the minute I awoke with one lopsided eye as pink as the Barbie thermos I toted to kindergarten every day.
It was then that I began making the logical connections that led me to this conclusion: The Apocalypse is coming.
Here is my evidence. First, as any Hatchet reader would know, GW’s bathrooms have become a veritable Sodom and Gomorrah of unbridled lust and promiscuity, reminiscent of a video by Satan’s own harpy Britney Spears.
I do not think I even need to begin to enumerate the sexual sins of Thurston Hall (popularly known as “Thrustin'”) to prove my point. I thought those walls would have crumbled by now from the repeated concussions of the thousand constantly copulating freshman within them. It really is eerie how easily one seems to acquire the mindset of a rabbit upon entering the building. Further proving my point is the well-established fact that anyone who has the slightest desire to live to see the dawn of another day must strap on a preemptive condom before even swiping his or her GWorld at Thurston’s doors.
On top of that came horrifying rumors. Not only have people been urinating in the stairways of New Hall, but there have been accounts of someone defiling the hallowed space of Lafayette with feces. Lafayette Hall – a.k.a. “The Nerdery” – is supposed to be one of the last havens of dorkdom on campus. One of the few places where those with a predilection for pocket protectors and a fear of direct sunlight can congregate and play (pardon me, I mean live) “Dungeons & Dragons” in peace, free from the paralyzing fear of atomic wedgies. Is anyone safe now that those pristine floors are besmirched with poopy?
Everyone knows Judgment Day is coming. The world is turning backwards. I witnessed students nervously opening umbrellas on sunny days to ward off fire and brimstone after hearing the GW Women’s Basketball team actually sunk a 3 pointer. I live in fear of the day an Aramark employee smiles courteously at me, for then I will surely know the end is upon us.
Maybe I am overreacting. I tend to do that. Maybe I should get out more, talk to people a little more and stop asking people who introduce themselves to me if that’s their real name. I would probably have more friends. On that note, I’ll ignore the four fiery horsemen galloping past my sixth floor window and the person knocking at my door with what sounds like the tip of a scythe.
–The writer is a freshman majoring in political science and philosophy.
This article appeared in the December 3, 2001 issue of the Hatchet.