Buswell or Susswell: All the Ops Live on Buswell Street
By Anonymous | Photo by Sadie S.
Buswell. Bussy.
The street of horrors, the street of fears.
To the eye, it may look normal; the brownstones, the trees, the flowers…it’s all so picturesque. You can imagine settling down on Buswell, getting a sales job and creating a nice quiet life for you and your wife and your two kids (a boy and a girl) and your dog Ottis. To the eye, Buswell is safe.
But do not be fooled, dear reader, for deep within the depths of those sought-after AC-less BU walk-ups lie beasts the likes of which even the bravest of man wouldn’t dare to cross.
Like a fly to honey, the residences of Buswell Street draw in the scum of BU. An infestation, they plague the buildings, threatening to eat you alive should you venture too close to their domain.
Take, for example, the Morristown Menace. She’s the worst person you could possibly imagine, the kind who tells everyone she grew up in Manhattan but we all know she’s from some fuck ass town in Jersey. She’s the kind to drag you to Barcelona Wine Bar, order the most expensive thing on the menu, and then insist you split the bill. She’ll ask you why you don’t “just buy a new computer” when yours needs an IOS update but will also Venmo request you for $0.32. They say she once bought a 3” x 3” mirror that cost $1000.
Then, of course, there is the Narcissist Nightmare, the ex-situationship who will say he “isn’t ready for a relationship” but then start dating another girl in your friend group a week later. He’ll tell you to “listen to your anxiety sometimes,” and he has a propensity for needlessly detailing his experiences breaking into abandoned hospitals while you’re just trying to do your calculus homework. Beware of the Nightmare.
And it is important not to forget the Ghost of Gaslighting Present. It will no take long upon meeting the Ghost for the two of you to become close friends, but she will end up ghosting you.
There are so many other horrid creatures that dwell in the Denizen of Doom I have not yet even mentioned – the Stinky Sleuth (the guy who sits next to you in lecture who always smells bad), the Bad-Breath Brute (you made out with him at a frat once your freshman year), the Claflin Clowns (you heard them having sex in your communal shower and you’ll never be the same again), the list goes on – but to name them all would be an incredibly time consuming endeavor indeed.
So, for now, I beg of you to heed my warning and avoid Buswell Street at all costs. Take the long way to get to Dominos. If someone tells you they live on Buswell, run the other way. If you must cross the threshold of Bussy, keep your head down and look no one in the eye. Do not become another victim to the monsters I have described.
Let this be a cautionary tale: all the ops live on Buswell street.