Satire: Senior bribes high school student for acceptance letter on Decision Day

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Andrew Kuczmarski/THE REVIEW
Decision Days have come again, and with them, a multitude of seniors who wish they could go back in time.

BY
SENIOR REPORTER

Disclaimer: This is a work of satire. This story and its characters are a work of fiction.

Five thousand students, buzzing with teenage awkwardness, flocked to the campus on Saturday for Accepted Students Day while tour guides, and their foam fingers, quaked with fear.

Student employees crawled to the parking lots to welcome families, knowing that only the poofiest pom-poms would inspire them to smile, let alone have a personality at 6 a.m.

“I think it’s absolutely wonderful that I get to show off our school spirit,” Kimberly Fairchild, one of the student ambassadors, says, eyes bloodshot and a smile that looked like it was about to crack her face in two.

To demonstrate her school spirit, Fairchild placed her monogrammed rain jacket over the ironic pile of vomit pooled nearby. Some students decided to show their spirit differently.

When the first Mercedes MSRB emerged on the horizon, the students immediately knew that the car was too nice for a student to have, and immediately began waving and cheering frantically.

Through the windows, they could see the dad blaring on the horn, instantly remembering his college days of that one-half keg stand that he didn’t tell his wife about. The mom, sitting next to him in the front seat, waving cheerily since she’s used to being up this early everyday. And the lucky accepted student in the backseat, sinking lower and lower and trying to melt into the car floor.

The freshman ambassador rolled their eyes, wondering how someone could be so disengaged, stomping out flashbacks of them doing the exact same thing less than a year ago.

“The day starts off with all students going to an academic session for their major, and then they can take a tour of campus and residence halls,” Fairchild says, wincing slightly. “I love interacting with families — I always get to tell my best jokes.”

When asked what some of them were, Fairchild reached into her pocket and pulled out a transcript, where she had written down every human emotion that she should anticipate when talking with other humans.

As the day progressed, the ambassadors did their best to roll backdrops they had painted the night before in the theater department down off a quiet and serene Main Street as families walked by. Their idea was to distract from the legions of freshmen with their “water bottles” and Ray Bans heading to a “study gathering with like-minded, genuine individuals, ” which is what an ambassador can be heard shouting at several trembling high schoolers.

A couple seniors sat on the Grottos porch, looking at the misguided parents who still think that the pizza there is supposed to be the state’s finest, wholesome pizza.

“Can I have your acceptance letter?” Chase Montgomery, a graduating senior asks one of the newbs sitting at a nearby table.

When the future pledge didn’t comply, Chase began flipping tables and throwing stale popcorn across the bar.

“Don’t make me leave! I’m one of them,” he says as he was dragged away by security who forced the cap and gown into his hands.

Pretty soon, the day ended and the families all piled into their mini vans, all 5,000 of them probably headed back to the same town in New Jersey. Dozens of bags from the bookstore could be seen from their trunks, even though the Five and Ten is right there and, seriously parents, how could you all have been blindsided by this?

Fairchild passed out after the first tour, the strain of genuine engagement too much for the poor thing. No one has found her yet.

“It’s a dream come true,” Ellie Cromwell, a high school senior, says. “I can’t wait to come here next fall.”

The ambassadors, panting heavily, waved the families off, just as the backdrops come down and reveal the dages in full swing. Their work here was done — until next weekend that is.

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