The Curse of the Class of 2021

As one of the most prestigious high schools in the city, there is no doubt that there is much to uncover at Stuyvesant. Your years at Stuyvesant may have raised many questions: How does one meet the ghost of Peter Stuyvesant? Why do the seniors keep saying he’s in the lecture halls when exactly two people are there embraced together? Why is it that day after day, I ascend, descend, and transcend those stairs yet never seem to gain any muscles? C’mon, where are my biker-worthy quads? My maximum gluteus maximus? Why do I never at least lose weight (hint: the large amounts of cookies bought from Ferry’s)? Are the humongous robotics team donations a cover to pay for the maintenance of the REAL robots: the Student Union (SU) presidents and vice presidents? I mean, $1 million? That’s a lot of money. What do they use it for? It’s obvious. Robotics team = robots. Obviously, they use it for making SU robots. Plus, I’ve literally never met Vishwaa Sofat. I mean, I think he was the guy in front of me in AP U.S. Government, but was it REALLY HIM? You can’t prove that it was him. It probably wasn’t. How come my socks are always wet? And… the SU never takes my applications. I mean, I’m everything they could want in a member. I have all the defining traits of a good applicant: I am corrupt philanthropic, I embody the TRUE voice of the student body, and I am very hot. But year after year, application after application, they never ever even consider me for second rounds! It’s probably because the SU is exclusive to ROBOTS! Specifically, THEIR robot members that they plant in the student body to make it seem like they’re hiring. And another thing—

Why do my teachers only respond to my emails at 3:00 a.m.? How come when my teachers see me approaching, they run in the other direction? (Did they leave something in their classroom? I’ll wait for them. I’ll wait.)

Yet the biggest question our juniors have been asking themselves lately is this: Why have all my years at Stuy gone to [EXPLETIVE]? And that’s not referring to our poor life choices, grades, or mental health. No, you see, year after year, us future graduates of 2021 have faced toil and trouble adjusting to this school, only to be met with disaster dogging our footsteps at every turn. Just look at what we've experienced in our freshman and sophomore years and look at what we're living through now as juniors. Fear and terror, feet-eating escalators, fires in elevators, and now, quarantine as the city scrambles to rearrange itself to meet new challenges. Plus, you know, the usual workload your hellish teachers dump on your broken backs. You stay up late trying to finish it all, cursing your teachers all the way (though you might have finished it earlier if you had stopped playing Minecraft earlier).

There’s no reason to think that the cause of it all could be, y’know, your poor life decisions combined with other people’s poor life decisions. What could possibly be the cause of the turmoil throughout our years at Stuyvesant? So, we juniors have come to a conclusion: we are cursed!

But how? I’ve come up with several reasons as to why this could be happening to us.

Reason Numero Uno: By forcing Principal Contreras to stay, we’ve doomed ourselves. Let me explain: Mr. Contreras was ready to leave at the beginning of our Stuyvesant years. Granted, it was because of the DOE’s meddling fingers in our Stuyvesant pie, but still, he announced his resignation at the beginning of the year, and then the toe-ripping escalator incident happened. Then, Principal Contreras saw how important and vital he was to our community and chose to stay. Stuyvesant hasn’t changed since then… or has it? I mean, I’m pretty sure only the Latin teachers could chant ancient Latin invocations. Actually, maybe they couldn’t before. They do now, though. They all do now. And whenever Mr. Moran is nearby on the fifth floor, the lights flicker ominously, and my iPhone begins to play the screams of disembodied tormented voices, which is new, but it lets me know when to hide my phone, so I’ll take it.

Reason Two: The Chinese zodiac. Wait, wait, don’t leave just yet! This isn’t some sorta Libra crap! Listen: the first year here, 2018 was the Year of the Dog. The next year, it was the Year of the Pig. This year is the Year of the Rat. What do all of these animals have in common? They poop a lot. No wonder your life has gone to the crapper. What, you want to reverse your luck? You’d have better luck nailing a horseshoe to your head. Yeah, that’s right, next year is the Year of the Ox. Ox are basically mean cows. Have you ever seen a cow poop? (And if you think you have seen one do that, well, that’s just [EXPLETIVE].)

The Final Reason: It’s all a scheme made by the true conspirators: the SU robots! Obviously, who else has the funds to run this sort of long-term con? Not President Trump, for sure. Oh, their plan took the long road for sure. It’s been set since the day you stepped into this school. First, they prime you with those “Big Sibs.” They prep you for life at Stuyvesant, cheering you up when you’re down, always hanging around. Whenever you feel any sort of great amount of emotion, the Big Sibs are there to guide you through it. But in actuality, they’re selecting the level of emotion you should feel regarding things like grades and certain teachers. Also, “Big Sib” stands for “Business Informatics Government Simulation Interface Beef”. The next step was to acquire further machinery, but the robotics team demanded the Big Cash™. Of course, the SU needed more funding to reach that million, so they turned to their side businesses, including illicit sales in the boys’ bathroom on the 13th floor and hustling Principal Contreras. However, Principal Eric Contreras told them that they needed the money to keep the (extremely outdated) escalators running. In the SU’s eyes, though, that was funding they weren’t getting. That meant the escalators needed to go: thus, the “Sudden Collapse” occurred. Wow, now all the escalators are shut down?

How unfortunate, Principal Contreras. And then, the Robotics Team got their million. (They didn’t really need that much, but who’s going to say anything, huh?) Soon, the items were ready: brainwave-manipulating interference frequencies. These, of course, used the school’s WiFi, thus weakening its signal. However, it was of no matter to the SU. The quarantine provided ample time for the devices to gain the most power without the WiFi being used by the smelly gym-uniform-clothed freshmen on the half-floor. Once we’ve all returned to school, we’ll all be ready to be subjugated by our SU superiors. The SU’s first act from this point is to ⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰ ⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰ ⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰ ⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰ ⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰ ⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰ ⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰ ⍰⍰ ⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰ ⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰ ⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰ ⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰ ⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰ ⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰ ⍰⍰ ⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰ ⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰ ⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰ ⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰ ⍰⍰⍰⍰ ⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰ ⍰⍰⍰⍰ ⍰⍰⍰⍰ ⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰ ⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰ ⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰ ⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰⍰

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