Homo Stuyvesantians: The Next Stuy Generation

You’re a freshman. Your biology class is watching a video on evolution, but sitting in the comfortable classroom, you feel a sense of calm envelop you like a warm blanket…until that serenity is ripped away by the terrifying words: “You will be tested on this video!”

As stressed as you are about the test, the measly three hours of sleep you got last night mean your eyelids feel heavier with every blink, and soon you find yourself drifting into an uneasy sleep. Meanwhile, your mind begins to race with questions: What will the children of Stuy kids be like? Will they be constructed entirely of AI? Will our horrible sleep schedules and eating habits affect them? Will they even function as human beings?!

As you fall into an uneasy sleep, you begin to dream. The boring drawl of a documentary report creeps into your subconscious: 

The emergence of a new species this past century has left researchers stunned. The Homo Stuyvesantians may look like your average computer nerds, but underneath their vitamin-deficient exteriors lies something far stranger. To learn more about their odd behaviors and traits, researchers Chanèl Discovery and Bill Rye “The Researcher Guy” have hidden themselves in the Stuyvesantians’ natural habitat: Ferry’s deli. Immediately, they were fascinated by the conversations they overheard:

“You look exhausted. How much sleep did you get last night?”

“Wasn’t too bad; I got 10 minutes,” the boy said, smiling at what was clearly a flex. “How about you?”

“A full half hour,” said the other, clearly embarrassed for being so well-rested.

Evidently, evolution has done its work to such an extent that, for the children of Stuyvesant students, thirty minutes is equivalent to the formerly recommended eight hours. However, recent research has suggested that this lack of sleep manifests itself through side effects such as the urge to act on every intrusive thought and hallucinations of dancing coffee cups.  

After the two Stuyvesantians got their food, the ten-minutes-of-sleep one suggested that they check out a new boba place around the corner, so Discovery and Rye followed. However, a problem met them at the doorstep. 

No, quite literally—the two students were exchanging corny computer jokes until the two mounted the first step leading to the door. 

The more well-rested Stuyvesantian let out an exasperated sigh.

“Not this again. I just don’t understand—”

“I know,” the other interrupted. “Why don’t the stairs just move up?!”

And so the two stood there for another 15 minutes, simply waiting for the stairs to finish the work and carry them up. The researchers documented their second discovery: the Homo Stuyvesantians’ legs were hard-wired to the ol’ Stuy escalators—no matter how much they broke down in their parents’ time—and didn’t work on regular stairs.

Eventually, some kind strangers who were familiar with the Stuyvesantian leg dilemma helped the two students out by carrying them up the stairs. This was followed by even more problems, as one of the Stuyvesantians’ heads accidentally banged into the doorframe.

Rye explains, “We looked upon the scene in horror as something trickled down through the subject’s hair and neck.”

“But,” Discovery explains further, “our alarm turned into utter confusion when we saw the liquid’s brownish-orange color. It looked almost like… ramen broth.”

And so, the researchers noted their third and most astounding discovery: Stuyvesant’s Gen Z ate so much ramen that it quite literally ran in the next generation’s blood.

“Let it be known,” Rye says, “that this particular Stuyvesantian was treated on the scene, though not before being thanked profusely by us researchers for being such an informative subject.

A video compiling Discovery and Rye’s data can be found at this link:  https://blogs.mtdv.me/u8j0fGh5

While this particular study has come to a close, we are far from knowing everything about the Homo Stuyvesantians. Researchers are still trying to figure out—AHEM—how exactly the species—AHEMMM…

You’re back in the biology classroom. The evolution video isn’t playing anymore, and your teacher stands above you, looking angry. She holds a piece of paper in her hand.

Oh no—the test!

“It’s an essay question about the video,” your teacher snaps. “If you weren’t so busy sleeping, this wouldn’t be a problem.”

You look down at the prompt.

Based on the video and prior knowledge on evolution, should any visible changes be expected in the next generation?

You sigh. You know exactly what to write…