McGill Tribune

One of the best ways to understand something is to analyze its exact opposite: throw it into a box, shake it around, and see what comes out. Let’s imagine that McGill is our something, this column the box. What follows is a diary entry from Gus, a McGill student and inhabitant of an alternate universe.

So I wake up this morning with a rager of a headache. I only realize where I am when I notice a McGill frat’s Greek letter logo blur in and out of focus above me on the ceiling. Last night’s beer pong tourney must’ve gone more vigorously than planned. Glancing at my watch I see I’m 10 minutes late for school. No worries, it’s not like Coach McAllister (the English prof) is bothered to take attendance. By the time I get the car out of the dorm’s garage and up Sherbrooke street there’ll be at least five minutes left of class time.

After parking my ride in one of the many spots at the Milton Gates, I grab a Bixi and bike into campus. Principal Munroe-Blum is in her usual place on the grass shooting the breeze with a couple students, listening attentively to any grievances. I give her a high five as I fly by.

As always, everyone is dressed the same. McGill hoodies everywhere. The entire campus is humming with school pride. Alumni sit on the Arts Building steps where they chat about the school’s accomplishments. It might be not produce any Nobel Prize winners, but it develops some solid football coaches.

I take the bike route that goes past the free textbook centre and towards the Architecture Café, where Head Chef Mendelson is shovelling bucketfuls of BigArch burgers down the throats of the never-ending line of students. After dropping the bike off I head to my class, taking care to pick up a copy of the McGill Daily on the way. As usual, McAllister is replacing Wuthering Heights with Canadiens reruns, so I open the paper. Page two announces that the new student club, Choose Boxers, recently consumed four kegs of beer with the opposing club, Choose Briefs, and they’ve decided to collaborate on a future project, tentatively titled Choose Neither. It’s clear from the pictures that love and laughter filled their evening.

McAllister ends the class by announcing that, upon student request, he’s cancelling the next two midterms. It’s been a long day. Maybe some studying will wake me up. But no, it’s always so lonely and empty at Cybertheque. I stroll back outside to catch up with Petey, a fellow Recreational Handshakes major. He’s pretty excited because apparently there’s a hipster on campus. Everyone’s trying to take a picture.

But that’s too much excitement for me. I have to meet with my advisor before heading home. The poor guy’s probably been sitting there all day waiting just for me. The tea he normally prepares will be getting cold. I’ll pop by, reinforce my streamlined career path, and then head to the car. If I’m lucky I’ll be able to power through traffic hit up the Reds game tonight. That’s if there are any tickets left.