Mind of a Freshman
Runaway Stutes
Jack Kolodziejski
Issue date: 2/5/10 Section: Opinion
Writing this column isn't my only responsibility at The Stute. In fact, chances are that the paper you're holding was hand delivered somewhere on campus by either myself or my distribution partner Mike Azzarra (who also writes for The Stute). Our task every Friday is to load up a hand cart with over two thousand newspapers and drag them across campus, dropping off a stack or two at designated buildings along the way. Usually our trek goes without errors, and for a work study job delivery isn't such a bad gig. On a sunny day making the trip around Stevens is even enjoyable, despite lugging hundreds of pounds of newspapers behind us. However, Mike and I share one common archenemy on our mission to bring the news to the campus: the wind. In a place such as Stevens, where on some days ropes are literally tied across campus to keep students from being carried off to wonderland, the wind is not the kind of foe you want to have.
Last Friday started off like any other delivery. Mike and I rounded up the papers and made our way over to CPA, past Jonas and up alongside the library. We then descended down the hill past Hayden and Davis and towards Babbio Center. Along the way, Mike and I then part ways as he makes a delivery to Babbio and I drop off the stacks inside Kidde and outside of Morton. This is where my trouble began. Kidde's papers are delivered inside, and thus I found sanctuary from my nemesis. However, Morton's drop off point is in a rack outside along River Street.
I approached my target, oblivious to the perils that awaited me. You would think that after a semester of this job I would not be so ignorant as to forget that my invisible foe lies in wait. A slight breeze lingered in the air, surely nothing to worry about. As I removed my knife and cut the plastic holding the stack together, I suddenly realized how grave my mistake had been. A seemingly gale-force wind instantly blasted me, sending a few Stutes to their doom. I quickly slapped a hand down onto the pile, attempting to prevent more casualties as my gums flapped in the unforgiving wind. The first blow eventually subsided, and I pounced on my opportunity to strike. Right hand still securing the fresh papers, I quickly opened the door to the dispenser and removed last week's excess papers from inside.
Last Friday started off like any other delivery. Mike and I rounded up the papers and made our way over to CPA, past Jonas and up alongside the library. We then descended down the hill past Hayden and Davis and towards Babbio Center. Along the way, Mike and I then part ways as he makes a delivery to Babbio and I drop off the stacks inside Kidde and outside of Morton. This is where my trouble began. Kidde's papers are delivered inside, and thus I found sanctuary from my nemesis. However, Morton's drop off point is in a rack outside along River Street.
I approached my target, oblivious to the perils that awaited me. You would think that after a semester of this job I would not be so ignorant as to forget that my invisible foe lies in wait. A slight breeze lingered in the air, surely nothing to worry about. As I removed my knife and cut the plastic holding the stack together, I suddenly realized how grave my mistake had been. A seemingly gale-force wind instantly blasted me, sending a few Stutes to their doom. I quickly slapped a hand down onto the pile, attempting to prevent more casualties as my gums flapped in the unforgiving wind. The first blow eventually subsided, and I pounced on my opportunity to strike. Right hand still securing the fresh papers, I quickly opened the door to the dispenser and removed last week's excess papers from inside.
Be the first to comment on this story