In the interest of lighthearted entertainment, I will replace the semi-serious content of this space with a humorous anecdote. I hope you enjoy my tale of Duke past and present...
You will never believe what happened to me over the weekend. While having a few beers with the class of 1963, I met a crazy old codger named Doc and his friend Sy-(Snootles)-and-the-Ramblin-(Root-Beer)-Gnome. Doc had frizzy white hair and bore a striking resemblance to Christopher Lloyd. He spent hours recounting his triumphs and failures as a Duke undergrad in the 1980s, constantly kicking the stupid gnome and referring to me as "Marty." I didn't ask how such an old man went to college in the 80s, nor did I ask why he was calling me Marty.
After a few hours, he led me to the Cameron lot. He had a silver DeLorean that he had fitted with some sort of "flux capacitor." I am a mechanical engineer, which means I have no idea what either of those words means. All I know is that he poured some plutonium in the gas tank, accelerated to 88 miles per hour right as lightning struck the clocktower and came to rest on Towerview Drive, 1990.
Like any other highly trained journalist would do, I whipped out a pen and started inventing "facts" and misquoting people. First thing to write down: beer as far as the eye could see. The quad was a veritable gauntlet of kegs, but we passed through without drinking anything. Upon our successful arrival at Theta Chi (once known as the "disco frat," now "on hiatus") we were greeted by the striking presence of Christian Laettner, a campus demigod.
I pulled Laettner close on the dance floor only to have him step on my feet and gyrate uncomfortably. In an effort to seduce the man-child, I told him that I was from the future and had seen him play basketball alongside Michael Jordan. He let out a whoop that was heard by all, even above the blaring beat of Paula Abdul. He then asked me how many championships he would win with the Chicago Bulls. At that point, I took two steps forward, three steps back, grabbed Doc and fled. Laettner went home with the weird gnome thing. Fine by me, right?
Doc and I hopped back in the DeLorean and headed for 2003. Too bad Doc's ride had shoddy brakes. We landed in the Duke forest, 2008. Fortunately for us, all the trees had been cleared out for construction projects so we didn't die. Seizing the opportunity, I headed for the monorail station to get a look at the Duke of the future.
After waiting at the station for three hours, it became painfully obvious that there was no monorail. Apparently the Iraqi parliament passed a resolution calling for the continued use of oil-burning buses at Duke, forcing Duke Student Government to interrupt construction. When asked to comment, DSG president Ashley Olsen replied, "DSG is extremely concerned with the Iraqi point of view." Eighth year senior legislator Avery Capone disagreed, mumbling something about "stupid hippies."
A svelte redheaded fellow named JC offered to tow me along the track in his red wagon. I accepted. People were waiting at all the stops along the way, but I was filling the entire wagon, so they had to wait. After a few hours, I fell off the wagon inside an enchanted place called "the student village." Immediately I was reminded of Epcot center. If I didn't know any better, I would say that the whole of campus was enclosed by the enormous dome. The only sunlight was coming in through a hole in the top, through which an enormous dollar sign could be seen.
Hungry, I headed for the only eatery: the Grant Hill. It looked just like the Great Hall, but had been renovated in the summer of '03, thanks to a donation by Mr. Hill. I was surprised to see Carrot Top working the grill, but decided not to ask any more questions.
After dinner, I decided I had better get back to 2003 in time to report my findings for the last page of The Chronicle. If I don't get this in by press time, my fellow students will have nothing to read during that interminable 1:10 lecture.
That dollar sign above the dome was a little too realistic, wasn't it?
Tom Burney is a Pratt junior. His column appears every third Wednesday.
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