8:51 a.m.—“I’d like a large iced coffee, oh, on Dining, please.” Grill worker/Birthday boy Isaac Walker ’15 obliges.
8:54 a.m.—Get two lightning bolts in a row tapping shit on Kim Kardashian: Hollywood. Floating on air.
8:57 a.m.—Touch down in Intro to Linguistics. ’Sup [2018].
10:04 a.m.—Wish I had the wardrobe to do sweater weather like Austin McKenney ’15.
10:12 a.m.—Run-in with former O-Chem lab prof, Erick Leggans ’05. Kate Strain ’16 looks on, only slightly confused.
10:18 a.m.—Noyce rain.
11:26 a.m.—Witness the magic of sexpot Dan Davis ’16 in the pool during Water Aerobics. I could sell tickets to this show and forever ensure the future of need-blind at Grinnell College.
12:10 p.m.—See someone ahead of me on the stir-fry line not include pineapple in their selection of mix-ins. Judge them. Harshly.
12:21 p.m.—Andy Troxell ’16 casually refers to his soup as “Texas Chain Gang Bang Chili.” Become a worse person for laughing. Reflect on the fact that Grinnell College Dining Services named a chili after one of the most shameful and oppressive forms of penal labor in American history.
12:55 p.m.—Hear from a source (a primary source) that “All of them wore cashmere turbans, rode agile mules and expressed great joy.” Imagine the joy I could express if I had an agile mule for the odd McNally’s run. Really any pack animal would do.
1:36 p.m.—Message from my father in the family group text, signed “Dadvid,” a clever portmanteau of “Dad” and “David,” with widespread appeal to the diverse audience of wife and kids.
5:00 p.m.—Phonathon manager meeting. $trategize about raising them funds.
9:17 p.m.—[magargar] trots alongside me as I walk purposefully to the Grill. Imagine being Queen Elizabeth II with Gargi [Magar ’16] as my Pembroke Welsh Corgi. Oh my god, Pembroke Welsh Gargi. Bam.
10:49 p.m.—Perpetuate campus stereotypes.
12:46 a.m.—Increase my Tinder radius, only to swipe left on what appears to be the entire Center College football team’s offensive line. Mourn for the lost days of Tindering in a dense urban area.
12:51 a.m.—Damn that’s a big-ass fish. Kudos to that red-blooded Iowa male. He could probably provide for me in a traditional-gender-roles type of way.
1:04 a.m.—Am I really ready for Hillary? How can I be sure?
1:07 a.m.—Floss and brush teeth. Ready for Hillary. Also bed.
