Hi everyone. Halloweekend was crazy, and I’m gonna tell you why.
Swear to LORDE KENYON, 100% of these Twilight Zone-esque vignettes are 100% true. Did I swap out a detail or two to protect the innocent? Maybe. But this campus went crazy this weekend, and too often I found myself asking, “Am I even here right now?” Kenyon broke, y’all. I think we’re Halloweentown now. And I’m not sure we can go back to the way things were.
- The Swarm. At five o’clock p.m. this Sunday, while comfortably eating a lovely meal of chicken parmesan in Peirce, I encountered The Swarm – a group of stone-faced students all wearing variations of the same cable-knit, forest-green sweater. They strode into New Side, looking as if they each comprised a piece of a single amoebic body, simultaneously placed their belongings on a round table and floated past me toward the servery. One member, a girl with shoulder-length blonde hair, shot me a smirk. I dropped my fork, terrified. She knew what power she held. I didn’t see them separate for the entirety of the meal.
- Professor Impossible. Saturday afternoon found me walking briskly to my car, anxious to get to Tim Hortons for a little pick-me-up. My path took me through the middle of a conversation between an older, white-haired man in a sweater vest and a young woman carrying an overfull backpack. Hand to God, this is exactly what the last bit of their conversation sounded like:
Older Man: All right, Kouchie, it was great talking to you.
Young Woman: You too, Z!
OM: Will I see you soon?
YW: I’m sure you will. *slight laughter*
After this exchange, “Z” proceeded to walk into the north wing of a building no longer in use by the college. So, who is Kouchie? Am I butchering her name in a desperate attempt to “create comedic content,” or is she a reincarnation of a minor character from NBC’s “30 Rock”? Who is Z if not the skeleton of a long-dead 90s skater kid? Where was he going? Why? One word: Ghosts. One more word: Heck.
- Disturbing the Peace. While carrying out a conversation with my friend at the very reasonable hour of 10 o’clock a.m. on Saturday morning, I heard an unholy noise come from a room on one of Caples’s upper floors. You know that thing where a cat’s tail gets run over by a Roomba and then the cat gets so overwhelmed that it runs headfirst into a box fan and knocks it into an urn filled with angry wasps? You know the noise that makes? Imagine that coming out of the throat of some unseen monster. That’s what I heard. Four times. Then, a shower of peanut butter-filled pretzels fell on top of us. Has Kenyon fundamentally shattered its students’ goodwill, or did an evil spirit possess some dumb hungover kid and make ’em throw pretzels at strangers? YoOooU decIiIIiIIde!
- Croissant Treat. What the HELL were croissants doing in Peirce this morning? I blame deep dark black magic.