Event was “a backstab,” laments tragically un-stepped-on citizen.
The following is a letter sent to our editors by a student who wishes to remain anonymous. Its contents have been edited only to protect the writer’s privacy. The State Run Media does not endorse or condemn any views expressed within.
Picture the following: it’s a usual Tuesday afternoon, and I’m going through the motions of my horrible life. As I once again descend Chapman Hall’s dank, wretched stairwell, I see a poster: “A History of the Goths in Late Antiquity.” Finally, I thought. Finally something good happens to me. I’ve attended this school for [redacted] miserable semesters, and at last something might make it worth it.
A shining light. You see, I’m from [redacted], which is well known for its progressive, diverse population — it’s safe to say that Oklahoma is a far cry from that ideal, and that’s not even mentioning its terrible weather. I’ve seen at most two goth girls in my time here — none of which were of the vampire subculture, mind you — and less than a dozen emo girls. I had given up all hopes of ever again finding a goth dommy mommy to cradle me in her pale arms and reassure me that I’m not worthless. Now you may understand a mere fraction of the agony I was in before I found this poster.
It’s safe to say I was elated — filled with hope, not lust, no matter what you puritans may say. I assumed that at this lecture, I would learn about masterworks of late antiquity such as Nine Inch Nails’ “The Fragile” in an environment with other people of culture — and some of Tulsa’s few precious goth girls.
Now imagine my shock when I walked into the Tyrrell hall auditorium earlier tonight to see a room filled with boring, bland, Oklahoma nerds — most of which were men, if you can believe that! I expected to hear the euphonious tones of Robert Smith, to smell and taste bitter incense in the air, to see beautiful, black-clad females with mental issues and — I hoped — even to touch one or more of them. And what did I get instead?
It’s entirely likely that not a single person in the ugly herd of normies at this horrid event had even seen the inside of a Hot Topic before. Despite my misgivings, I did wait for the event to start; perhaps the alt baddies were waiting backstage. As the lecturer began droning on about Roman history or some other completely uninteresting topic, I began to think I was in the wrong room, but I double and triple-checked the calendar and it confirmed my worst fears. This event was a trap, a clickbait and a backstab — and not the good kind, with stilettos and a 6’4” dominatrix. This university chose to give me hope, only to crush it under its non-Doc Marten boots.
For what? To trick me into attending a dull history class? I’m sure you, dear reader, know how it feels to be given false hope. A miserable life is tolerable — barely — but to be fished by the lure of happiness is unbearable. To quote Emil Cioran, “my faculty for disappointment surpasses understanding.”
Thanks, TU. Thanks for nothing.
