Bent Words

Bent Words

January 18, 2007

The promise of free pizza and beverages brought me to the Campus Center a week before classes began. I probably wouldn’t have bothered otherwise but, I was hungry. Hell, free pizza could lure me to one of those ‘Make Millions Working at Home!’ meetings at the local Holiday Inn banquet room. But, when I arrived, fashionably on-time, ready for lunch, there was no pizza. There weren’t any greasy pizza smells, troublesome pizza crumbs and not one empty box to suggest a nice large zah had even been considered. And since Ryan, the ‘Graphics Editor,’ strolled in behind me, I could dismiss the possibility that he had already touched and fondled every single piece.

Those bastards tricked me.

The Executive Staff, as we have so modestly marked ourselves, tricked me into spending two hours at their crowded round table without the promised sustenance. After innocently looking around, I tiptoed into the newspaper office to grab my sacrificed USB cord and not-so-deftly peered into the trash can, hoping to find a remnant of what could have been. I was gravely disappointed.

Our faculty advisor, Susan, avoided admitting her mistake for the duration of the meeting. She could have simply confessed to have forgotten the pizza or to have dropped the pizza in the parking lot when she slipped, ever so slightly, on a small patch of snow or to have consumed the boxes’ contents before entering the building but, no, there was no such explanation. Just zero f’ing pizza.

I hate to go on but, what’s up with all the lies??

This college has stood like a beacon of promise for me ever since I was a child listening to my father’s stories about grandeur and reverence of this fine edifice. I was perhaps meant to attend this specific college filled with small classrooms and dedicated staff members. I was destined to traipse across these finely manicured lawns and receive a deluge of precious knowledge from these first-rate professors since I was eleven – and yet no one could fulfill the simple promise of a goddamned sausage and mushroom (extra cheese, please) pizza? What’s so special about this half-assed institution that I cannot be rewarded for my $20,000 donation with a single, stupid pizza? Is that really too much to ask for?

So, the meeting went well. We accomplished absolutely nothing, of course, when the serious subject at hand (i.e. figuring out exactly what the f’ing ‘Graphics Editor’ is supposed to do, anyway) spun off to the ‘Gang Bang Girl’ stories we got in trouble for publishing last semester.

That’s right. Gang Bang Girl. The girl who, on move-in day, decided it would be kinky to schlob two guys at once on the dorm mattresses provided by the school. Before the mattresses were moved in doors. It was such a cute and inspiring story that three out of our six editors decided to write pieces which made direct references to Gang Bang Girl’s early afternoon indulgences. It was fantastic. Mostly because no one bothered to censure their articles in any way, shape or fashion. They just came out and, well, popped her in the face with it.

Later on, she left a message at the office in a weak attempt to redeem herself but we only printed her tangent in the ‘Voice of Carroll’ section so everyone could be equally privy to her insolent verbiage. It was funny but we still got sued. Twice.

The first time the student paper was sued was, luckily, when I was not an editor. Some staff member thought it would be a gas to report on another student’s attempt to begin a student organization called The Porn Club. The club would allow like ‘minded’ students to watch pornographic videos and then relay their highly motivated opinions on each video, maturely and respectfully. When the student activities director was asked his opinion about the club, he commented (according to the newspaper staff member) that he would be ‘open’ to the idea of discussing Paris Hilton’s, Pam Anderson’s and Carmen Electra’s body parts as a sanctioned, and budgeted, college organization.

Apparently, the director of activities was never even aware that the club existed. He did admit, however, that he was aware of pornography. He no longer works for the school.

Because there is a new student activities director working for the college now, the locks on the newspaper’s office door have been changed. This makes sense when you consider that our Lay-out Editor, Luke, has most of his belongings stored in the office. Why a man would own one bear suit AND an Abraham Lincoln costume is beyond me but the other editors, not including myself, seem to enjoy playing dress up when four hours of copy-editing, sans pizza, has become too much.

This brought us to the much debated subject of how many hours one should really have to sit in order to completely copy-edit the entire newspaper in a size 6 font the Sunday night before publication. It probably wouldn’t be so bad if Ryan would actually look over a section or two instead of telling dirty jokes and I probably wouldn’t mind it as much if Liz didn’t take EVERY possible opportunity to fart (and, consequently, laugh) that she could. I mean, how many times can one fuck up a joke before they realize that it’s just not their forte? And how many times can a chick fart before the act glides beyond ‘cool,’ and slides into, “seriously, girl, they sell Bean-O at Walgreens. Here’s five bucks.”

And I thought I was the odd one of the group being 27 and freakishly tall. Apparently it takes more these days to shock the masses.

I have learned a thing or two, though, working for a newspaper. You either have to be completely nuts, actually know what you’re doing or just not care. Slanderous monikers might survive your entire college career if you utilize more than four mattresses for purposes other than sleeping and you can’t believe an f’ing word reporters have to say.

At least when it comes to pizza.

Written at 9:30 p.m.