(Satire) Winter Break: what is happening on campus?

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VICTORIA CALVIN/THE REVIEW
After the rager the professors threw, the Green doesn’t seem very different.

BY
Managing Mosaic Editor

There was no sound, no sorority girls waiting for their morning Starbucks in Smith Hall, the backless chairs in Perkins may no longer be sat upon by exhausted freshmen and the Green no longer hosts a swarm of texting bikers. All was silent, now that students have escaped to the comfort of their homes. However, what happens after finals when all these students have migrated to their dwellings? What sorts of happenings occur on the quaint landscape of the campus? Dedicated investigative reporters of The Review hid in the construction pits located in front of the South Green to find out the truth.

With the construction workers gone, campus was oddly quiet. While sipping hot cocoa with mini marshmallows, we observed the campus, watching for any strange occurrences or events. Footsteps tapped against the walkway, and suddenly, Post Malone started to blare. We listened, as the footsteps transformed into hyperactive, nonstop dancing.

There they were: professors pounding their fists in the air without a single care. A large fire roared in the empty fountain at the side of Morris Library. Various professors hurled paper into the fire, only increasing its size.

Professors chugged gallons of Red Bull and began to sprout wings with the party showing no signs of stopping. The library walkway was in disarray with lamp posts knocked down and pipes and wires scattered about the green. The Green somehow looked the same, though, a mess.

After accidentally falling asleep in the pits, we awoke and found all the professors had disappeared. Some Newark residents walked through the campus and didn’t even glance twice at the wreckage across the Green. The fountain, which was often filled with water like most fountains or at least empty, contained a mismatched set of chairs and tables. No one questioned the placement of chairs and tables within the fountain to distract from the scorch marks. The Green looking like a disaster was normal to everyone.

A few professors discovered our stakeout in the pits and attempted to bribe us with four points that could be added to our account, just enough for a Chick-Fil-A sandwich, but we knew, despite our grumbling stomachs, that the truth was at stake. The Review finally learned the dark secrets or the real reason behind the university’s protracted winter break.

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