The cries could be heard from near and far. All along the line, in the trenches, in the tunnels, and in the trees: students unable to maintain the delicate balance of work, academics, clubs, friends, sleep (optional), and whatever else it is kids get up to these days, falling before the march of the sands of time that wore down their resolve until they finally succumbed to the inexorable advance of the dunes of duty. The sand dunes here are of course a metaphor or the rest of this article would not make any sense. But over the grinding grit, a distant thunder could be heard. And it grew louder and louder, unlike any natural thunder whose sound dissipates quickly. Until, atop the crest of a decent hill, from a cloud of dust emerged galloping centuries of thoroughbreds carrying warriors wielding swords, guns, lances, and javelins.
Your friend who is very into Napoleonic history took a moment to note the similarities between this moment and the charge of the French 4th Hussars at the Battle of Friedland in 1807.
Rising in their stirrups, the soldiers struck back at the sand dunes (which will now turn into evil garden gnomes for the purpose of a sensical metaphor because stabbing sand dunes doesn’t do much). Javelins tipped with metaphorically useful concepts like “a healthy sleep schedule” and “a supportive group of friends” slayed gnomes on the right flank while a battering ram wielded by “reserving time for hobbies” and “eating healthy” took control of the center of the battlefield. But, alas! On the left flank, the highly secretive and sneaky “self-doubt” unit of gnomes was advancing! Lurking in the shadows of the trees and bushes where the ground was too treacherous for the cavalry, they forced students into single combat where they would have to have the courage to believe in themselves.
Some shouted words of affirmation at the evil garden gnomes, leading to a perplexing scene of animated stone gnomes falling back before an invisible force as battle-scarred college students shouted “You’re doing a great job!” and “Your accomplishments are meaningful!” at them. Others banded together, forming two and three-person teams to watch each others’ backs and come to each others’ aid when the outlook was bleak.
As the sun began to set and both sides retreated to their camps, it seemed the students had prevailed. But one final foe was lurking. As the water clock showed 11:30 p.m., the large canvas that mapped the battlefield showed a monster rearing its head. Its name was “final lab report” and it would be at the camp at 11:59 p.m.! There was no time to lose. Weary and worn students charged out of their barracks armed with quills and inkwells. As their energy came flowing back from the fog of near-sleep, rectangles began to rise from the ground and then line up with each other to form tables. Other zig zaggy lines descended from the clouds to form useful figures as quill-wielding students raced to write captions and derivations. As the second digits (because no one has a watch with a second hand) ticked closer, it remained unclear if they could save the camp before 11:59 p.m., although they were grateful for the tactical error made by the lab report in announcing the exact timing of its plans. Just as the clock struck 11:58.57, the lab report was submitted and celebratory confetti rained from the sky.
This metaphorical medieval fantasy battle took place at the end of last semester. Off the Press was privileged to be allowed access to the site and we look forward to more conquests this semester.
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