Caitlin Wiffler ‘27
Chief Eggplant Editor
Amusing his mother with autumnal tales of studying abroad in Dublin, Ireland, Thomas McCarthy ‘27 couldn’t wait to delight his friends with stories of his adventures. The snowy campus of Holy Cross awaited his glorious return. He moved into the second floor of Alumni Hall and hung his flag of The Hangover proudly above his TV. After completing the arduous task of choosing the color setting for his LED lights, he grew quite an appetite. He headed to Kimball.
When he entered the dining hall, he was welcomed with the familiar buzzing of students stuffing their faces with cornbread.
He paused in perplexity. Who were all of these people? New people? People he had never seen before! Boys, but not his friends! Girls, but ones he had never spoken to before!
“You never spoke to girls to begin with!” his conscience scolded.
…
Girls…he didn’t recognize! Who were these students filling the Kimball tables? And where were his friends? Brad, Chad, Matt, Jack, Pack and Quack? With wariness, he grabbed a plate.
“Agh! Egg residue!” He made a note to tell his friend and Kimball Captain, Matt, to scrub the plates back there. He laughed to himself, remembering when Matt joked he was going to a place called “D.C.” for the semester. “He didn’t even try to name a real place! Like they’d ever name a place after two letters.”
That’s when it hit him. The cart of plates, that is. He turned to see a familiar maroon polo, but it was attached to the head of a young boy with a weak mustache. His nametag read Shane S. ‘28. McCarthy scoffed, for he knew that freshmen couldn’t be Kimball Captains. McCarthy felt like he was in some foreign dimension.
That’s when it started to sink in. His foot, in a mop bucket. He stumbled to get out, but his sneaker was caught, so he did this whole hopping thing. People stared. It was really loud.
That’s when it all came crashing down. In his bothersome attempt at escaping the mop bucket, he fell into the fruit-infused water jug. Within moments, it collided with the nearby stack of cups and everything littered the floor. McCarthy was sprawled out as if he was a chalk outline.
Lying there, McCarthy knew something was up. Something was named Shane, and he stood over him with his hand reached out.
“You must be a freshman,” Shane said.
Featured image courtesy of Expedia.com
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