COM Students Go On Strike After Bedtime Changed to 8 PM
By: Bridget Fekety
We live in a world of global crisis. And for COM majors (poor souls, bless their hearts </3), the injustices just keep getting worse.
Yesterday, it was announced that COM students have been robbed, yet again, of their basic human rights. On top of being discriminated against for being the “annoying kids” in class and being ignored when they say something out of pocket for attention, BU instituted a new policy demanding that all COM majors are required to be in bed by 8 PM on weekdays.
“It was for the greater good,” reported the Dean of Students. “As a concerned and dedicated leader of the community, myself and my colleagues decided an earlier bedtime for the COM students would be reasonable to cut down the college-wide lack of attendance in courses.”
The students, unfortunately, did not take kindly to the new order. We reached out to the dean for further input on the matter, but unfortunately the COM kiddos had already gotten to him. According to sources who prefer to remain anonymous, the dean went missing two nights ago and was found this morning with his eyes glued open, watching Don’t Worry Darling on an endless loop.
Despite the dean’s sacrifices, the attendance of COM kids in class did not improve. In fact, matters are continuing to escalate as these incredibly repressed civilians begin to bite back.
“We can’t even watch Nick at Nite!” complained an outraged Film and TV student. “So we took matters into our own hands!” The student explained their efforts of withholding all their student films from public consumption. As we were speaking, a gaggle of Advertising majors were spotted posting anti-BU propaganda everywhere across Comm Ave. In fact, they even asked us to sign a petition to rename the street “COM Ave.”
When we asked how the public felt about this violent revolt, one individual reported: “I don’t…really care? I just want to get my silly little drink now.”
Another student simply asked, “What’s happening?” while another just stared silently at us with disappointment in their eyes.
“We deserve the right to stay up for as long as we want,” continued one of the revolutionaries. “And we’re not afraid to speak up about it either. As a Journalism Major I–”
A student athlete then zoomed outta nowhere, rocketing into the journalism student, and sending the small body flying halfway across the sidewalk near COM lawn. The student laid there twitching for a couple of seconds before our news team called our coroner to determine the status of the body.
“They're alive,” murmured our coroner. “Listen.”
The journalism student was saying something about being the “savior of social justice” and a “voice for the people–THE voice of the people and–”
We stopped filming as a rush of COM kids began to flood the lawn. Hoard after hoard clumped together by the sparse beach chairs and weird stone architecture(?) and began behaving incredibly strangely.
Looking closer at the behavior of the masses, it was clear to see that these students were setting up sleeping cots.
“Do they not go home?” Our camera person inquired. This was a great question.
“This is our home,” a nearby COM student responded. When I looked down at my watch, I saw it was 2 until 8 PM. This puzzled me. Why all these cots? Were they suddenly uninterested in the strike?
At that moment, I couldn’t believe my eyes: one by one, the COM kids each lit a cigarette, took a fat drag, and threw them down onto the individual cots laying open at their feet.
“VIVA LA NIGHTTIME!!!” They cheered, fist bumping and bro hugging one another left and right. Finally the Dean of Communications showed up with an entourage of random professors and, before we could even get an interview, did something we did not expect.
“Students, your voice has been heard!” The COM dean proclaimed. “And now you shall hear ours! Who wants some juice?” All of a sudden, the COM kids began to stampede towards a truckload of Capri Sun and, eventually, stomped out the cigarette fire which was just beginning to grow.
It was then that I realized this battle was over. As each eager COM kid slurped down their juice pouches, one by one they began to curl up in their sleeping cots–clutching teddy bears and sucking their thumbs–and fell into a sound slumber.
The time, however, was not 8 PM. No. It was 8:01 PM. I showed my wrist watch to the Dean of Communications who had a smug smile on her face. Yet, when she saw the time, her jaw dropped. She proclaimed how this was unacceptable, how these COM students had gotten too wild for their own good, but I saw her defeat as she hopped in the Capri Sun truck and drove off into the distance.
When I turned back to my team, we were all smiling. Justice had been achieved. Before we left, we gave each COM kid a light peck on the forehead, tucked them in tight, and left to report for another fateful day. While justice may have been achieved for the COM kids, the world was still riddled with oppression and hatred. And we knew just where our next stop would be:
Hello CGS.