(Dorm Room 201, Drawn by Flora Smith)
SCENE 1
Freshman introductions event in the skeleton of a fifty million dollar building. A “Scavenger Hunt” (tour) guided by an energetic sophomore, who is now pointing the freshman toward an abandoned popcorn machine, apparently reserved for finals season.
POPCORN-CRAVING FRESHMAN:
“What’s your major?”
ASHAMED FRESHMAN:
“Philosophy. Then Law School after that.”
SCENE 2
Three hour long fair in a gymnasium dedicated to fairs. There are tables advertising the next forty fairs this semester. Also, the gym hasn’t seen a basketball since 1973. Waxing the gym is expensive. Fairs are forever.
MASCOT-HAT FRESHMAN:
“What’s your major?
ASHAMED FRESHMAN:
“Classics. Then Law School after that.”
SCENE 3
Ice Cream Social in hundred and six degree heat. Bruno Mars dully plays in the background. There’s probably a clown in the mix, most definitely a cart for balloons and stickers. 400 kilograms of carbon are released into the atmosphere by the whole thing. 300 if there weren’t stickers.
SWEATING FRESHMAN:
“What’s your major?
ASHAMED FRESHMAN:
“The Performance of Self. Then Law School after that.”
FIN
What have we done?
Where are the verdant green hills? Where are the professors holding thousand page books? Where are the students, perfectly positioned on a flattened out picnic blanket? Where are the English Majors?
I’ll tell you where. They’re six feet under. Buried next to Occupy Wall Street and original recipe FourLoko. Died in the 2010s.
Because by then, everyone got to google “highest paying major” and read a listicle. 37 and below? Reserved for the College of Liberal Arts. A listicle written by one of us, by the way!
But, fear not, future College of Liberal Arts student! You could still get a Real Job! All you need is a real degree, a degree in Law. Law School’s actually seek out Liberal Arts degrees, if you could believe it!
With the promise of a Law degree, we could all do anything we want. We could do it in the name of the LSAT. Or at least say we are, and avoid that look the electrical engineering majors give you. And now we’re chained to the Law. Pretending that we’re going to get Real Jobs.
So I’m proposing a walk-out. 8:00AM this Wednesday.
This walk-out isn’t for every student at the College of Liberal Arts. If you really want a Real Job, and are gonna take the LSAT or whatever, I don’t want to hear about it. I mean, hell, even if you’re in the College of Fine Arts you can join. This is for the one’s just trying to avoid a look.
Do you remember the last walk-out you attended? How powerful it felt? Literally standing for a cause. In middle school, I stood up and walked out of my seventh grade Spanish class for ten minutes. Couldn’t tell you why I was doing it—even at the time—but I did it. And when I did, I just sort of, milled about. There never was a clear thing to do, was there?
But at my walk out, the campus will be filled with the sounds of screams.
We’ll walk out of World Literature, or The Familiar Essay, or Topics in History, or even the classes we share with the “real” majors! We’ll walk out, and you’ll hear us do it, because the whole time, we’re going to scream.
One of us, she’ll say: “I don’t care about a Real Job! I want to read on a ridiculously green hill! I want to write a thirty page essay, and laugh in the faces of the STEM majors complaining about finals! Who cares what comes after that?! It’s the best!”
Another one will say: “Dead Poet’s Society lied! I’ve never liked one of my teachers, and they’ve all hated me! I know I’m gonna be a substitute teacher the rest of my life! But at least that way, I’ll be getting back at some Dead Poet’s Society hack every day! Carpe diem assholes!”
Then another of us’ll say: “You keep saying barista like it’s an insult! At least I’ll make people happy! Who the fuck has ever felt happier after talking to a consultant?! No one!”
And I will scream, a long, sharp scream: “This is it! This is all there is! Right now, this is all I need! I’m not going to Law School, I’m not going anywhere, I’m right here! Right now!”
It’ll all blend together, this wall of screams, into one sound.
Our requiem.
Catterton Scribes 
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