The following piece is satire and should not be misconstrued as actual reporting. Any resemblance to a student, staff or faculty member is coincidental.
1.
It was a dark and stormy night. I was headed back to my room, utterly exhausted after a grueling day of sitting in a chair and looking at a screen. I walked briskly, eager to escape the bitter evening wind that pierced my soggy clothes. Daydreaming about a quiet night by myself, I was startled by a text from one of my more socially affluent friends. A quick read made my stomach drop, my walk slowing to a crawl through the small stream burbling on the sidewalk.
“They were out for dinner already? Why wouldn’t they just wait for me to get back?” I wondered. I turned around, frustrated that I would now have to trudge to the bus stop and make the journey to Tenleytown. I was almost too busy stewing in my drowsiness to notice yet another text, this one even more concerning than the last. “New people?” I thought. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, I spent all day working, and now I have to talk to new schmucks? Some dull friends of a friend?”
I audibly groaned as the bus arrived, but quickly steeled myself for the coming conversations. “I might be tired, but these people are probably really nice. And if they aren’t, it’s only one dinner. So what’s the worst that could happen?”
2.
As I entered the restaurant, something immediately felt off. Spotting some of my friends, I quickly maneuvered to the circular booth in the back of the room. They greeted me warmly from beyond an army of neon mocktails, but something wasn’t quite right. Their voices were droning and pompous, their eyes gleaming with a hunger for attention.
“Hey, I just want to pick your brain for a second,” one of them asked, with the menacing grin of an HR representative. “We’re circling back and touching base about our careers. Are you planning on going into the public sector or the private sector?”
“Uh, I haven’t thought about it I guess,” I muttered insecurely. Every eye at the table suddenly shot up at me in amusement. “Oh my god… don’t you have a ten-year plan?” she laughed. I shook my head and sat down.
“Ugh, I'm so tired! You know, my advisor told me that sophomores usually don’t take 25 credit semesters, but… God, how else am I supposed to get ahead?” one of the strangers lamented.
My heart began to race. “No, no, say it isn’t so,” I pleaded to myself. But it was too late.
“Twenty-five? Oh, I remember when I had that much free time. Ever since I started quadruple majoring, I’ve had to take 30 per semester,” offered one of the others, barely containing their carnal hunger for gloating.
I began to feel dizzy, desperately wondering if there was a way out of this. Sensing that the window to change course was closing, I frantically intervened. “Yeah, that sucks, man. Hey, I really like your shirt, though. Where did you get it?”
“Oh, I don’t remember,” the stranger said offhandedly. “Yeah, I was dressing down today because Congress isn’t in session. Obviously we’d have to be wearing suits otherwise.” These weren’t just any Wonks. I was surrounded by hillterns — and they were starving for attention.
3.
Trapped on all sides, I was running out of options. The food hadn’t even come out yet, but it seemed that was not what they were looking for. They did not need nutrition; instead they utilized a strange process that seemed to convert self-importance into energy. I could only hope to last until they had finished feeding, my survival dependent on pure endurance.
I looked for an escape, but the conversation always came back to how working for Marjorie Taylor Greene was actually morally justifiable, or how they had gotten their job through hard work and definitely not because their parents worked for the U.S. Department of State. Looking for allies, I managed to catch my friend’s eye as the others discussed their top five dream lobbying firms to work for. I rolled my eyes heavily, hoping to know that I wasn’t the only one hearing this.
But he stared back blankly. Confused, I leaned over and saw the familiar blue banner on his phone. LinkedIn. And he had already connected with them. “Sorry, did you need something? I’m a little out of it, my new internship has me working like a dog. Just so much responsibility, everything the senator wants from me,” he said loudly.
Despair began to set in. “My own friend turned into one of those… things?” I thought hopelessly, barely containing the tears welling in my eyes.
They were eating away at my soul, sucking away all the energy and excitement of college life. Continuing to listen to the debate on which coffee shops you can find the most congresspeople at, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer.
4.
As the night grew later, it seemed they only became hungrier, hunting for articles to performatively repost on Instagram like the hyena savagely pursuing the gazelle. But, just as all hope seemed lost, my salvation appeared on my phone screen. A Canvas notification, informing me that I had gotten an 87 percent on my most recent essay. It was a B-plus.
Instantly, I flipped my phone around, exposing my academic mediocrity to the entire table. “NO!” they howled in unison, recoiling in agony.
“My GPA!” screeched one. “Keep that away from my GPA!”
As I pushed the phone in closer, they practically trampled over each other, desperate to escape.
“Lockheed Martin will never hire me now!” cried another as they bolted away. I stood up and surveyed the table. It was over. I had done it.
Epilogue
My walk home was quiet. The rain had stopped, and the chilling gale had given way to a calm winter stillness. Suddenly, my phone buzzed once again. Against my better judgment, I gave in to my curiosity and checked what it was. Apparently some interns were kicked out of their programs for sprinting out of a restaurant without paying the check.
Scrolling through the wave of newly open positions, dark thoughts began to swirl in the back of my mind. “An internship on Capitol Hill is pretty prestigious,” I reasoned. “And I am smart… and cool… and handsome… in fact, I might be the most important person on campus.” I continued, my ego inflating by the second. “I’m the perfect candidate. So why don’t I just… apply?”
Jack Leary is a Junior in the School of Public Affairs and a satire columnist for the Eagle.
This article was written by Jack Leary, It was edited by Aidan Dowell, Alana Parker, Quinn Volpe and Walker Whalen. Copy editing done by Sabine Kanter-Huchting, Ariana Kavoossi and Emma Brown.
