MEGAN KIDBY
Guest Scallywag
The following is a parody of the article “Mason Hall from an outsider’s perspective,” previously published March 30, 2022 in Issue 10.
As I approached the book building with the bricks I only had one thing on my mind: how was I going to survive in a building with no music? I approached the building named after Rueben E. Fenton and immediately was overwhelmed with the sound of … nothing. There were no people talking or instrument sounds. There was just the humming of the boiler room (which was a D) and the sound of my feet hitting the tile. I was bored as soon as I walked in.
I sat down in the lounge and immediately took in my surroundings. First, I was sad to see there was no café where you could get boba tea. There was only a vending machine that hummed a C note and a water fountain which hummed a B. I also took notice of the people walking by. They didn’t have instruments in their hands at all. Instead they had what I think are called books?? I don’t know. I have no knowledge of any letter past G. It was crazy! I was waiting for someone to play “Careless Whisper” on a saxophone or something.
Class let out and immediately there was a swarm of English majors flooding the lounge. As I listened to their conversations I found out they talked about some of the same stuff we do. One conversation I found interesting was a group was debating what they would do if they were Will Smith. I pondered that myself, but that is another article for another day. There were also two people talking about this guy named Gatsby and what his dreams meant or something. I have no clue what they were talking about, but he sounded great.
Suddenly, a light at the end of the tunnel: A person walks by with music playing in their headphones. This was it. I was finally in my element. Sadly, she was gone and the hall went quiet. I packed up my things and got ready to leave when another English major spotted me. I recognized her as one of my friends and I went over to say hi. Immediately, she hit me with her copy of “Jane Eyre” by Jane Austen. The Fenton Hall bubble closed at that exact moment, and I knew it would never open again.