November 1999

Sometimes, things happen that don’t make sense. This is upsetting. I don’t mean spend-money-talking-about-your-inner-child-with-a-therapist upsetting
here; I’m talking about the strange occurrences in everyday life that confuse and anger me, at least until I take my aggression out on a poor, defenseless tree. It doesn’t explain anything, but I feel pretty good every time I walk by and spot boot prints in the bark.

As I’ve discovered through extensive research, most things at Guilford make absolutely no sense. That’s right, kids. There is no sensible reason for any of the decisions made on campus. It’s sort of like a long Twin Peaks episode . . . except I don’t get the joke. (Not that I ever did in the first place. That show was weird.)

First off, what’s with the lake? It’s not like we can enjoy various water-related sports activities there. The water has the consistency of pudding and is populated by mutant three-eyed fish, rusting El Caminos, and the bodies of Quaker Mafiosi. Plus, the water smells worse than a bus full of dead, rotting Girl Scouts in the mid-July heat (not that I’d know what that
smells like). This doesn’t bother some people, who still seem to like swimming in the lake as free and naked as babes. Hey, enjoy the water. Just check yourself for glowing leeches and additional limbs afterwards.

The strangest building on campus is Founders; indeed, it is a veritable mecca
of the weird. First, there’s the weird chalk drawings/graffiti/ancient Celtic runes that appear randomly on the sidewalk. I’m not sure whether I should be interested or scared and am left wondering if there’s some sort of
psychological dysfunction that compels people to draw cutesy flowers on every available surface. What I am sure of is that it takes 20 minutes to scrape the pastel chalk off a pair of boots. Dirty boots are unhappy boots. No one like unhappy boots. (Sound of safety latch clicking)

As most of you know, the Caf is located in Founders. If you haven’t figured this out, you’re probably really hungry by now. In any case, we won’t even get into the cafeteria’s “Viva La France!”-style striped green awnings or the strange, deteriorating crouton things floating like pond scum in the cottage cheese. But why, for the love of all things holy, is broccoli included in every single menu item that can loosely be defined as “food”?

I like broccoli, in theory. But it’s getting creepy in there. I suspect that the caf gods have some sort of nefarious black-market deal with the Midwest Broccoli Association Gangsters. There’s a time and and a place for green,squishy things that are full of, mm, goodness. That place is not at breakfast. I can’t say more (trust NO one), but heed this: Don’t be shocked if you sit down and find suspicious green particles floating in your cereal.
What a great way to start the day.