A Shot of Yeager: A Series of Unfortunate Events

Amelie Yeager

It looks like I may have spoken too soon. I guess this is karma’s way of balancing out the Earth’s natural order (I don’t really know, just go with it), but let’s just say that this past week hasn’t been as “wonderful” as the one that preceded it. That’s what I get for comparing my life to an American Christmas classic.As the semester is now finally in the full swing of things, I think we’re all starting to hit our own little walls. School is getting harder, Lower is becoming unhealthier by the day, and the overall excitement of being back at school has faded. And for those of you who are thinking, “What is she talking about? I’m perfectly happy so far,” I’m here to tell you that no, no, you’re not. I’m bringing the unhappy truth, people. Get out your umbrellas, cause I’m about to make it rain. For example: that suffocating August heat is over with, but is it so much to ask to wake up and not feel like I attend school in the Arctic Tundra? Let me lay out my morning routine for you: my alarm goes off, I drag myself from my bed that feels like what I’d imagine the closest thing is to a cloud crafted by Zeus himself, and just as I feared: the cold front arrived. First stop, Sweatshirt Station. Bring on the layers because apparently mid-September calls for hypothermic conditions. But wait—a few hours later, just as I emerge from my classes like a timid bear cub preparing to brave the cold: hello, welcome to the Sahara Desert please enjoy your stay.

So hear my prayers, Eastonian Weather Gods: pick a temperature, and just, like, maybe stick with it for a few hours, okay? Many thanks.

Also, what’s the deal with the party-of-one studiers taking up entire tables and study rooms to themselves in Skillman? Share the wealth, people. You’re not that important—unless you’re on the verge of solving some record-breaking algorithm that would put Alan Turing to shame or you’re performing revolutionary brain surgery on a monkey using nothing but a toothpick and a hot glue gun, I’m pretty positive you don’t need all that room. (My apologies if there are people out there who are actually accomplishing these things. Take all the space you need. I respect you and your work deeply and thank you for your contribution to society.)

Even more disturbing, on my way to class the other day I had a real-life Mexican standoff with the famous no-tail squirrel that lurks around campus, particularly in the Quad-South-Marquis regions. He (or she—gender not yet specified) literally walked and stopped in front of me on my path and stared deep into my soul for a solid twenty-three seconds. I know this because I was counting, and yes, they were the most emotionally scarring twenty-three seconds of my life. I’m still coping with the aftermath of this trauma and all cards and flowers are appreciated. (Thanks, Mom)

I suppose in the grand scheme of things, though, these issues aren’t as heart-wrenching or troubling as I make them out to be. I mean, I still have all four limbs in tact, I do possess the practical capacity to dress for both hot and cold weather conditions, and I’m only slightly psychologically damaged from the encounter with He/She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Things could be worse. I’ll keep you guys updated though; until then, for your own sakes, please don’t go down any dark alleys or peer into any questionable hedges – you never know what kind of tailless monstrosity could be waiting in the shadows. For the love of God, save yourselves. Until next week. Yeager out.