There is a sign taped to the wall behind the Novack toasters. It says, "These are toasters."
I didn't understand the need for such a sign until yesterday. I was running the face-gauntlet down the first floor Berry hallway when I saw something promising. An obvious freshman with a huge backpack wasn't looking where he was going.
I stopped and pretended to check Blitz.
Closer -- closer -- yahtzee.
The freshman walked right through the hanging purple Gu hair. Still disoriented, he kept walking -- and the hair, tangled around his bulging Jansport, stretched out into the hallway after him, a disgusting purple cape. Fly, '11, fly away home!
Realizing he'd been ensnared in Wenda's web, he spun around, trying in vain to reach the hair stuck on the back of his backpack without taking it off. It was like watching a turtle on its back trying to right itself, except I felt no sympathy and the turtle didn't know what Home Plate is.
He was unknowingly enacting the perfect visual metaphor for the Class of 2011.
Eventually, somehow, the kid got free. As he walked away, I could see him considering one of those that-was-on-purpose moves, like the little dance people do after they trip. He didn't, instead choosing to mutter inaudibly -- probably "I wonder if throwing myself down this staircase would kill me" or "'Soaring flight of fancy that has an ethereal beauty despite its size'? You can say that again!"
Of course, the freshman only had two options if he wanted to save face: either set the hair on fire or tear it all down, wrap himself in it, leap atop the Reference desk, and rap the alma mater in Spanish. He failed.
What are these?
These are toasters.
Senior fall. Old-school seniors are waking up cockroaches, twitching and terrified in a Dartmouth where graduation is real and cell phones are not just okay, they're crucial. No alumna exists who wouldn't go epileptic if they knew. Losing your friends, finding new ones, and being limited to shouting distance and long-shot e-mails were pillars of what it used to mean to go out here, because going out here used to mean adventure. Now all we have is freshmen on iPhones comparing SAT scores and nursing Mike's Hard. You can't even say "Nobody rages anymore" anymore; the truth hurts too much.
Freshmen: next time you see a beer-drenched senior in the corner of a basement staring into the middle distance and slowly flipping the tab off of a can of Keystone, approach her and apologize, because it's your fault.
Public service reminder: under New Hampshire law, it is legal for seniors to slaughter and eat freshmen from 3 to 5 p.m. when Food Court is closed. Happy hunting.
For the freshmen who survive, some advice: don't go to Theta Delt.
Don't take it from me -- ask any upperclass girl. Here's the thing: if you need someone who can make you feel small, look cool by association, and give you beer, Keggy is still single. Trust me, you won't notice the difference: being a keg, he's inarticulate, cold and stupid, too.
Still not convinced? This summer, TDX made my argument for me. The recap: Kappa, on the tight leash of their national regulations, arranged a social function to take place in the fraternity's basement. When they arrived, they were pelted by (at least) sexists slurs.
No parents indeed.
The resulting uproar ended with a whimper. Dean Nelson issued a statement explaining that, while Theta Delt's actions were inexcusable, Kappa was on their way to drink -- which, in his infuriating logic, meant that neither would be punished.
Greek houses drink throughout sophomore summer. Everyone know this, even administrators. Essentially, the ruling took advantage of Kappa's routine infraction in order to forgive Theta Delt's real misdeed, thereby squandering a real opportuntiy for change.
Faced with administratitve inaction, students did their best to step up: sororities boycotted TDX and GDX held a forum.
If Theta Delt, that temple to the unexamined life, didn't own the land Food Court sits on, they would've been derecognized three scandals ago.
I'll conclude my argument with a Bored at Baker conversation far too priceless (and relevant) to let fade into history. It transpired at the height of this summer's controversy, 8/26/07. It may be deleted from the website when this goes to print, but I assure you it is real.
Begin transcript.
any girls want to get double teamed right now on the green
2:01:15 a.m.
yea, i really need a study break. what year are you guys?
2:01:50 a.m.
we're 09 theta delts
2:02:58 a.m.
i heard what you guys did to kappas. i dunno anymore
2:03:52 a.m.
dude, we didn't do shit to them
2:04:41 a.m.
didn't you call them bitches and whores?
2:04:54 a.m.
i don't know what the big deal is. girls call each other bitches all the time
2:05:49 a.m.
it's still offensive. all the time no matter what.
2:07:18 a.m.
so still want to get double teamed?
2:08:08 a.m.
See you next week.
Oh -- hi, Theta Delt. Don't look so surprised. See the picture at the top? That's me. Let's hang out.
