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Particularly Jaded Sophomore Refers To "Their Freshman Year" Wistfully, As Ancient Fable Long Lost

Monday, 12:30pm, a Lee’s Booth. Sophomore Katie Pointers is seated across from freshman Abby Martin, each enjoying their own ensemble of Whitman’s lunch food. Martin is animatedly describing a hilarious scene that occurred in a Sage common room the past Saturday night. Pointers laughs, looking to the floor, then out the window with wistful eyes. We ask if we might intrude and witness some of that classic student life we’ve been hearing so much about.

“Sure thing!” said Martin. “I was actually just about to ask Katie about the housing lottery.” Pointers was happy to jump in.

“Ah yes… about the old lottery system, poor Abby! You know nothing of it! It’s not easy for a first timer to navigate! I’m happy to give any advice.” Pointers, whose friend did the lottery for them 7 months ago, was happy to walk the newbie through the process. “Look. I just did what any Williams Veteran would.”

Martin expressed her gratitude and began telling Pointers about the drama with her potential pick group. Pointers interjected, “I totally remember stuff like that. Ugh.. it feels SO long ago. I’m so glad to be done with all that frosh drama.” Pointers, in fact, lives with the kids she met during First Days. “Don’t worry. I anticipate you’ll be done with all that drama soon. That’s such a freshman year thing. I’m so glad that isn’t me anymore.”

Martin replied, “I know. I’m just a little nervous about conflict.”

“Ah the old pick group skirmishes, it’s been many moons since I’ve experienced such woes,” laughed Pointers heartily.

Martin continued, “As much as I know it will be fine in the end, I’m pretty thankful that my housing was picked for me this year, Sage hasn’t let me down with friends!”

“Ah, long lost are my days in Sage the Storied.” Pointers sets down her fork, takes a sip of Diet Coke, “Do they even call it that anymore? Or hath the epithet turnt to dust?” Pointers chuckles and looks to us with a raised eyebrow, “Another mug of mead, good sir? Say, do you get to the Cloud District very often? Oh, what am I saying, of course you don't." We stayed put and offered no response. Pointers continues,

“Hwæt! We Gardena in geardagum, þeod-cyninga þrym gefrunon, hu ða æþelingas ellen fremedon. Oft Scyld Scefing sceaþena þreatum, monegum mægþum, meodo-setla ofteah egsode eorlas. Syððan ærest wearð feasceaft funden, he þæs frofre gebad, weox under wolcnum, weorðmyndum þah oðþæt him æghwylc ymbsittendra ofer hron-rade hyran scolde, gomban gyldan. Þæt wæs god cyning”

We left mid verse(?). The Williams Haystack apologizes for the unprofessionalism demonstrated in this article.


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