Slothful Students

Are you a scholar who wants to get to class six minutes early all the time? Do you just wanna pop into the bathroom to take a hit of your JUUL? If you answered either yes or no to these questions, drop what you’re doing and listen to me rant! Every day as I try desperately to get from my first-floor Swim Gym class to my ninth-floor chemistry class in a timely manner, I am bound to run into a giant mass of Stuy students, moving slowly downwards and even more slowly upwards. “Get a move on!” I always want to shout. “I’ve got classes to fail and teachers to disappoint!” (Plz don’t show this to the loml Papa G).

When Peter Stuyvesant rises from the grave every October to personally select the city’s finest to go to his school, as he has done since the school’s founding, why on earth does he choose such degenerates? They’re certainly not beasts of burden, at least everyone but the freshmen. They’ve got every reason to be slow, since they all have backpacks big enough to hide themselves in when freshman hunters are on the prowl.

Once, I confronted my friend about why he walks so slowly. “We’re all going to die sooner or later. Don’t you wanna get the hell to wherever you’re going before that happens?” I asked him.

“I’m dead already,” he tersely replied.

I’m dead already.

Oh c’mon! I have no social life, and you tell me that you’re dead? I run from class to class so that I can use the rest of the passing time to make flashcards. I shovel lunch into my pie hole and news about Mueller into my eye holes simultaneously. I listen to college lectures while running around with my freshman-sized backpack. I’m so dead I dressed up as myself for Halloween. For some reason, a bunch of students accused me of stealing their costume idea.

The worst is when people make out in the hallways. Invariably, someone (usually Moran) tries to pickpocket the lovers in search of JUUL pods, phones, and ID cards. Once, someone wore so much cologne to impress his girlfriend that the bridge was shut down for weeks. Another time, the smell of perfume was so strong and foul that I dove into a fully-loaded trash can to escape it.

Who knows what makes all Stuy students so slow? Maybe it’s the backpacks, maybe it’s the lack of sleep, or maybe there’s just something within every Stuy student that tells us to take our sweet time. Either way, I guess my advice is this: just fake an elevator pass. Anything is better than dealing with the sloths in the stairwells.