BY MIA KOTELEC
Oh, the hallways. A festering breeding ground of teenage activity comparable to the bustling plains of the African savanna. Flocking from class to class, students should be able to traverse the corridors with ease, yet one impenetrable, indestructible herd blocks their path: freshmen.
I don’t get it. Why must they pick the skinniest, most densely travelled area to assemble? Whenever I need to get somewhere, an impassable mass of 6 to 3,000 prepubescent beasts decide to cement themselves to the ground, forming the sturdiest and most effective barricade known to mankind. The Great Wall of China looks like a dinky little LEGO compared to the endless freshmen blockage causing me innumerable tardies.
Our campus is filled with vast, empty spaces perfect for just standing idly, yet somehow they remain just that—empty! The quad by the French room was optimally designed to handle the capacity of at least a couple hundred, but all I ever see are the same five token people. Stand on the roof for all I care! Just let me get to the bathroom.
Walking through the halls has become a high-speed obstacle course where one misstep will suck you into the darkest depths of the turbulent tempest of infants apparently lacking all sense of direction. Like a pack of dying sloths, the mob moves slower than our school’s WiFi.
I think we need to look at the bigger issue here. I am genuinely concerned for the health and overall well-being of our younger peers because they are clearly suffering from some sort of zombie infection. It makes perfect sense! That dazed look in their eyes, their absolute inability to move with any purpose, the assortment of collective groans and grunts. Obviously there’s no other explanation for their behavior, so if anyone has some sort of vaccine or is skilled with a lasso, please let me know.