The Monday Catchup

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7:30 A.M. The din of library construction tickles your ear drums. “Wake up,” she whispers to you, “welcome to the morning.” For a while you thought the library was beautiful, easy, and clean. She was older and well-liked by many. For a while you didn’t mind her cracking a little and exposing those hidden parts of her. You loved it. When she finally crumbled, you walked away. You built a wall around her. You thought you could paint what you wanted to see on that wall. You knew that wouldn’t work, or maybe you were dumb enough to think it would work. Now she’s all ugly, boring — messy. Now she’s a cruel lover, and she’s only getting colder by the minute. You thought you could escape her. Now every morning you’re greated with the clangs and beeps and banging of an angry woman who has no pity for you. Now she gives you the finger instead of asking “How was your weekend ?”

“Turkey but not. Italian food instead.”

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The Monday Catchup

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I think it’s safe to say it; I have an opinon about a thing at Kenyon. I think something is one way, but it certainly could be another way. If I publically say that we should change that thing, I know most people will agree with me. I also know that you are all afraid to change that thing — that very thing I now have a strong, fervent, dare I say piping hot, opinion about. Deep down we know that thing can change. Why are we so comfortable with that THING? We must discuss the thing at length. We must call our mom and explain that we plan on changing this thing. If we post about this thing on a subpar college humor blog maybe people will think about that thing. If enough people let other people know their opinion about the thing, maybe we could get that thing to be a different thing, or at least a better thing than it is now. I will not stand for stagnancy. It’s the Monday Catchup.

How was your weekend?

“Happy 5th of Halloween.”

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The Monday Catchup

It’s Saturday night. You’re two beers and one jell-o shot deep at a friend’s party. Why did you take that jell-o shot? Well it’s over now, and you’re feeling buzzed. Maybe you’re even feeling tipsy. Perfect. The party hosts are playing the BEST song (for the record that song is Tipsy – Club Mix by J-Kwon). Channeling the jell-o you bounce back and forth, making the rounds. Then you spot that one guy. You know who I’m talking about. He’s the guy you see sometimes in line at Fusion. Yeah. That one. You tell yourself to play it cool and keep chatting up your friends. He is probably into that freshman girl anyway. The one who posts a ton of bikini pics. Yeah. That one. Wait, he’s walking towards you. Yes? No? Yes. He locks eyes and grabs your hand to dance. How long did you dance? It could have been 10 seconds. It could have been an hour. You talk about class and life and each other all the while you are sure he can smell jell-o on your breath. Why did you take that jell-o shot? Just when you think he’s about to leave, he leans in. His lips travel to your ear and he whispers, in a voice barely audible above the Club Mix of Tipsy by J-Kwon, “how was your weekend?”

It’s the Monday Catchup.

“I got catfished. After that I got a Wiggins Mocha.”

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The Monday Catchup

photo.jpgEvery time I recall this story, I can’t sleep for at least two days after. Imagine our mother, Kenyon College, washed in warm light. The trees lining middle path are shaggy green. The student body has gone to summer in upstate New York or somewhere on the coast of Massachusetts or got an internship like a reasonable person. It’s the summer of 1995. Gambier is sleepy, but one building is full of activity.

Caples has been checked and locked down for the night, but lights and showers have been unexpectedly coming on throughout the day despite the vacancy of the building. At 5 a.m. safety officer Dan Turner recieved a call from switchboard operator, Jolynn Bryant. Three phone calls from Caples had come in rapid succession from rooms 511, 611, and 711. Each time she heard a woman scream and hang up. The sound was not mechanical but decidedly human. Safety officers arrived on the scene and another call came in from room 811. This time the voice on the other line did not scream. Instead, it breathed heavily, wimpered, and choked out the phrase “How was your weekend?”

It’s the Monday Catchup.

“I saw a baby llama taken from its mother and then returned.”

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The Monday Catchup

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You need to stop forming a hoard. I cannot navitage Middle Path when you clot up the main artery of this campus. For example, last evening I was walking home from my duty round because I’m a CA who signed up to be RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR ACTIONS, and a huge mass of you come barraling towards me with the force of an impending colon blowout. I’m forced to jaywalk and proceed to have a 10 minute conversation with the sheriff about my IRRESPONSIBILITY while you stumble past, pee behind a pine tree, and defile the good name of The Kenyon Thrill by placing us in the same sentence as Buzzfeed. Go figure out what Disney princess you are based on your kink. I’ll be here waiting. Don’t even tell me how your weekend was.

“My weekend was bad, because I was forced to jaywalk.”

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