Trapped
SPOOKYBEAT By GABY UMANOVA and BENEDICT HO
A SOPHOMORE realized that they were a freshman just three months ago.
ADMINISTRATION doubled the capacThe
ity of the Wi-Fi network to 24 connections.
A SENIOR costumed up with an elite college’s sweatshirt.
Your only FRIEND has suddenly stopped complaining to you.
The SU has created 30 more fonts and emojis for their next newsletter.
When you awaken from your daily history class nap, you notice that things are a little off. Instead of waking up to the rush of students at the loud buzz of the end bell, there is a peculiar darkness and silence. You are alone. It is dark outside. The light above your head gives its last flicker and dies. You haphazardly make your way out of the dark classroom using your phone flashlight. You feel an arm make a grab at the phone, and a voice whispers in your ear, “No phones in school hallways. ID please.” It is the late night ghost of Assistant Principal of Security, Health, and Physical Education, Brian Moran. Mr. Moran snatches your phone, but you chase after him. On the way down to the auditorium, you are suddenly caught within a stampede of students. They look like zombies, with severely pronounced eye bags and sluggish movements. They are all wearing shirts with monsters on them—looking down, you find that you don one too. You see the procession of parents and children walking into the building; you lose sight of Mr. Moran in the crowd. Mr. Moran suddenly taps your shoulder and blindly assigns you to a tour group. You start giving the group members the tour spiel. Their faces are blank. One child is frothing at the mouth. Another’s parent is demanding a day-by-day recount of your entire Stuyvesant career. A little goblin is inquiring if he can participate in a swim meet and a debate tournament at the same time. By the time you finish your tour, the school is deserted.
Troll Living Under Tribeca Bridge Reemerges By VED PATEL With backpacks that weigh several times their own weight, members of the class of 2021 stampede across the Tribeca Bridge every morning at 7:59 a.m. Multiple freshmen have also been witnessed attempting to roll suitcases full of textbooks down the bridge. This extravagance by the freshman class normally ends by the end of October, but has yet to happen. As such, a mysterious figure appeared in front of the stairs to the bridge, barring all from entering on October 29. This figure, who declared himself to be Lord Grendall Troll, claimed to live under the Tribeca Bridge. “For decades, I have kept my silence but after the immense and prolonged ruckus caused by the incessant little munchkin devils, I had no choice but to take matters into my own hands,” Troll said. “To have to look over at Yeezys hanging over the roof of the bridge was abominable, but this was the final straw.” Troll has imposed many limitations on the items allowed on
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October 31, 2017
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the bridge. Any backpacks that cannot fit into a locker shall be immediately emptied and its contents thrown into the Hudson River. When questioned about the effects of large binders and five section notebooks on the ecosystem in the Hudson, Troll replied succintly: “Everything in that river is dead.” Any textbooks found will be immediately donated to the Borough of Manhattan Community College. Furthermore, any student who brings a rolling backpack will be redirected to John F. Kennedy airport. Backpack restrictions are just the tip of the iceberg on Troll’s new rules for bridge usage. He has imposed new restrictions on the elevator by limiting its usage to couples or soon-to-be couples. Seniors have welcomed Troll, cheering him on for finally instituting well-needed changes for the bridge. They have pushed Troll to create divided walkways reserved for seniors, crossing tolls for underclassmen, and venue fees for freshman Student Union campaigns.
Exhausted, you readily accept that you will lose all of your Snapchat streaks. You start making your way out, only to be stopped by an oddly pale child. “Hellllllooo, can you pleaszszse show me the ssschool?” he asks in a creepy falsetto and latches onto your hand. A weird goo secretes from his hand onto you. You are trapped. You start the tour with the pool, thinking you could try to remove the suspicious goo from your Superstar sweatpants. The side door is unlocked, revealing dimmed lights and the stench of chlorine. You hear a splash and feel water land by your feet, and when you reflexively turn around, the pale boy is not there anymore. You are relieved. Running out of the pool, you hear a thunderous splash in the water that startles you. Slipping in a puddle, you fall into the pool. “Hello, fishy fishy,” the reemerged pale boy bellows. This time you notice them: mermaids in the pool water. They have gray cracked scales with yellowing, crooked teeth and narrowed eyes. You rush out of the pool with unprecedented speed. As you reach the half floor, you notice a dozen robed figures chanting and slowly moving in a circle. A quick peek at the center reveals a plain cup of coffee surrounded by energy drinks. You continue running up the stairs. On the second floor, you see
at
Stuy
super-seniors lounging around the senior bar. You quickly run past their ghostly callings that were tempting you to join them. Running blindly up the West stairs, you find yourself on the
Catherine Joh/ The Spectator
fifth floor, in front of the teacher’s lounge. Pounding music and strobing lights pour out: the APs are throwing a rave. You see your guidance counselor and your favorite AP. “Thank god,” you sigh and run to them, hoping to find some answers. But they brush you off: “Program changes are… next
year. Come back later.” Continuing on your journey back to the second floor, you find yourself on the third floor, where all the teachers have gathered to discuss their evil machinations. The departments have created their ultimate weapon: a complete week of testing. The physical education department proposes a 97-minute racing examination on the same day as the biology department’s 20-page in-class essay on photosynthesis, and everyone enthusiastically votes in favor. Now you really must escape. You dash down to the bridge exit, only to find that it is locked up. You resort to psychological tactics and rush into the library with some spoiled milk from the cafeteria. You grab as many textbooks as you can as the mummified librarians moan in horror. “The Precalculus book gets it if you do not open the gate,” you declare. A horrified gasp reverberates. “Now, if you all would let me out of this godforsaken school, I’ll leave the book in its previous disastrously-worn condition in the Chambers Street station. Understand?” They all nod in agreement. With fearful vigilance, you make your way to the safety of the station. “God,” you breathe out, as the doors of the 2 train gently shut behind you, leaving the textbook on the other side. “What a nightmare.”
T e a c h e r H a l l o w e e n C o st u m e s By ANGÉLIQUE CHARLES-DAVIS We have been anticipating this moment since November 1…of last year. But even though we’re hyped up on pumpkin spice lattes, pumpkin flavored candles, and pumpkin flavored pencils, many of us are at a loss for how to dress up for Halloween. What we do know is that we are unnaturally attached to school. It follows, then, that our Halloween costumes pay homage to the very subjects of our undying admiration and never-ending respect: teachers. Here is a Stuy student’s guide to dressing up as his or her absolute favorite people.
Ms. Dunkel:
The student is to enter school brandishing a loudspeaker, which is to be used to enthusiastically declare everything that he or she finds mildly interesting, ranging from Hammurabi’s code to the fact that saying ‘postulata’ three times quickly sounds really cool. At varying points throughout the day, the student is also to shamelessly break into song because he or she did— let us not forget—major in drama at LaGuardia. All of this is to be done from within the comfort of a large shawl.
Dr. Markova:
Aiming, essentially, for a sporty prison guard, the student should come prepared with a harsh accent designed to melt the soul, an ag-
gressively short haircut, and a whistle. The student’s main job is to be omnipresent and to scream “Dorsiflexion!” at unsuspecting students as they walk down the hall.
do and non-confrontational khakis. Throughout the day, the student is to somehow inject strong profanity into describing spinning harddrives.
Mr. Sterr:
Ms. Hill:
To dress up like Mr. Sterr is an exercise in keeping one’s face completely motionless for an entire day. Looking out from a red beard that somehow turns into brown hair, the student may not let his or her eyes waver or show any signs of being even slightly interested in mathematics. The voice, however, is a different story and can sound as irritated as it wants about the fact that the house burned down or that one is not a prime number for God’s sake, without altering how little the face seems to care.
Ms. Rosenthal:
The student is to be outfitted in a tracksuit, non-negotiably. Weather, mood, or change in schedule pose no threats to the assigned outfit. On this day the student should be enthralled with anything and everything to do with philosophy and thought, because, after all, physical education is the most important kind of education.
Mr. Brooks:
To properly emulate Mr. Brooks, the student must be wearing funky suspenders. The funkier, the better. The student’s goal here is a nicely aged Einstein and is achieved through a poofy marshmallow hair-
As a student dressed up like Ms. Hill, one may find that he or she scares him/herself. The student will be the first to make the bob look completely terrifying and will appear as if he or she has spent days volcano surfing while juggling flaming knives, rather than teaching freshmen bio. But it will be no big deal because the student will also go around telling stories of how he or she has broken almost every bone, burned him/herself on every Bunsen burner, and burned his or her eyes on every last drop of hydrochloric acid in the lab.
Ms. Dwyer:
Ms. Dwyer’s overall getup should not be too far off from the everyday student’s wardrobe because Ms. Dwyer is In Touch With The Youth. The student will most likely sport a mason jar filled with herby grass stuff grown in an urban garden. The student will wear boots that are cool enough to not be comfortable, especially on the walk home across the Brooklyn Bridge to a walk-up studio apartment. The student will wear jeans that are Quirky and Different and a shirt that is Vintage, Trendy, and Fun.