Breadsticks and wedgies: Chronicles of Kyser Brickway

Photo by: Alec Horton

Photo by: Alec Horton

MADDIE FRY
Reporter

If you ever find yourself wandering aimlessly around campus, wondering why you chose to survive four years of college, I highly suggest stopping by the brick path between Kyser and Williamson Hall.

This is prime people-watching real estate, my friends.

For two consecutive days, I spent the better part of an hour sitting on the steps overlooking the long stretch of bike racks and conveniently placed trees. I grabbed a beverage and casually eavesdropped, enjoying some quality entertainment, free of charge.

Monday

(1:14 p.m.): Girl inconspicuously fixes what appears to be a really intense wedgie. I feel a sudden wave of empathy; I have been this girl.

(Overheard at 1:17 p.m.): “I don’t always wake up crying,” someone said. This one really resonated with me. Who hurt you?

(1:19 p.m.): I notice an abandoned cheesy breadstick, sitting alone on the steps. I think about taking a bite, but remember that my ancestors did not die for this.

(1:34 p.m.): A cluster of completely forgettable dudes walk by. They are loud (and I mean absurdly loud). I wonder what they are compensating for.

(1:37 p.m.): Girl with long, pretty red hair walks by. She’s intently listening to music. I genuinely want to know what she’s listening to and how her day is going because she looks totally lost in whatever world she’s in.

(1:46 p.m.): I’m suddenly overcome with dread at the rapid influx of people stepping past me and invading my very reasonable 20-foot personal space bubble.

(1:58pm): A very cute, happy couple walks by holding hands. I imagine myself as the flower girl at their wedding.

(1:59 p.m.): The cheesy breadstick prevails. Nobody seems to notice.

(2:10 p.m.): An exciting development – there are now ANTS en route to the cheesy breadstick. Possibly fire ants. Spicy boys.

Tuesday

(3:24 p.m.): It’s quiet. Slightly cold. I’m one of the only people here right now.

(3:26 p.m.): A white maintenance truck drives past me, uncomfortably slow. The gas cover is open; maybe it’s an artistic choice.

(3:31 p.m.): I make a comprehensive list of how many different ways I could physically get my entire body stuck in a bike rack.

(3:38 p.m.): My existence is essentially meaningless, and I will die someday.

(3:40 p.m.): Two squirrels chase each other, and both of them are chubby. Nice! If I were a squirrel, I would have snatched that cheesy breadstick from yesterday.

(Overheard at 3:46 p.m.): “Found an entire Quizlet for it so I’m down to get plastered later if you are.”

(3:51 p.m.): I try to think back on what I have learned these past two days. What it honestly boils down to is that observing the futility of everyday student life doesn’t change anything. I have no miraculous conclusion for you. So gotcha. *mic drop*

 

 

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