The Wash. U. student dictionary
Three short weeks ago, as thousands of students descended upon the Washington University campus, those of us in Arts & Sciences classes noticed a subtle change on syllabi all across Blackboard. Teaching Assistants are now called “Assistants to the Instructors,” and the journey that helpers go on as they relish in grading exams and quizzes, answering questions on Piazza and sitting in the backs of classes is called the “Mentor Teaching Experience.” In the same spirit, the Student Life editorial board has come up with our own names for a few of our favorite things on Danforth campus.
The Bear’s Den: Nope, this isn’t an abbreviation. But why do we abbreviate BD when it’s so short to begin with? I’ll let that one sink in for a while.
—Ella Chochrek, Editor-in-Chief
Sustenance Utilizing Center: Last year, they took our mozzarella sticks. Today, they took our guacamole. Tomorrow, we’ll be eating Soylent stir fry with a side of multivitamins. Our freedom to choose is at risk—so, I say to Dining Services, “Why the charade?” If you are going to remove all things beautiful from our menu, at least give the dining halls a more fitting name. The Danforth University Center should hereby be called the “Sustenance Utilization Center”—SUC for short. Wash. U. does love its acronyms.
—Aaron Brezel, Managing Editor
The Shadowland: Picture this: Chancellor Mark Wrighton, standing on the steps of Brookings Quadrangle, his hand resting on the shoulder of Provost Holden Thorp, gazing out across Danforth campus. “Everything the light touches is yours. Except the Shadowland—we don’t go there anymore.” In the classic Disney movie “The Lion King,” the Shadowland is the barren wasteland where all exiled lions (Think: evil uncle Scar) and hyenas live. When I rush past the borders of the East End construction site every day, that’s the only thing that I can possibly imagine lives at the bottom of the cavernous pit that has swallowed the East End of campus. But seriously, don’t go there. You’ll get expelled. —Aidan Strassmann, Managing Editor
AYWILTSMM: “Assuming you walk in, listen to some mediocre music” is the new WILD. Not only does it roll off the tongue nicely, but people will actually know what it stands for (does the “L” stand for “lie”? “Lay?”). As for mediocre, talk to me when we get Sam Hunt or Ke$ha, because, sure, Jason Derulo was fun, but I’m still trying to unstick my eyes from rolling them all throughout Mac Miller. And, like, have you ever seen anyone at “WILD” (voluntarily) walk in and lie (lay?) down? I didn’t think so. —Noa Yadidi, Managing Editor
The Uber Pickup Point: First off, I think we can all agree that the Clocktower on the South 40 is not much of a tower. While it is a natural meeting point on campus—and a great way to gauge whether you’re going to be late for your first class of the day as you walk from your dorm—it is not the gigantic landmark I imagined when I first visited Wash. U. Aside from daily Running Club practices, the Clocktower seems to be the busiest on Friday and Saturday nights, as underclassmen wait around impatiently, trying to find their proper ride amidst the heavy traffic of Uber drivers on Shepley Drive. Wait for your Uber XL with friends under the clock, or if it’s stormy, pull straws and let the rest of your group venture inside Ursa’s while you brave the weather. You’ll find the car, eventually.
—Elizabeth Grossman, Copy Chief
The Goose: Ever played duck, duck, goose? That’s what it’s like trying to find a seat in the Danforth University Center during peak hours, 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. on weekdays. You go ‘round and ‘round the DUC sitters, hoping one will vacate a spot and you’ll find yourself in the right place at the right time. Most days you’re a duck; some days, you’re the goose. It feels good to be the goose. —Rohan Gupta, Senior Sports Editor
Subway: OK, there technically already is an area on campus named Subway—it’s the Subway, located in the corner of the Mallinckrodt Center. But it is unfair to Subway, and the amount of metaphysical space which it occupies within the building, that only that one corner of the Mallinckrodt Center is called Subway. If you enter any door in the building, you will be hit by the unmistakable smell of campus’ most popular (and only) sandwich chain. Yes, the downstairs area is technically called the Gargoyle, but I have never been down there without seeing someone holding the signature green, white and yellow plastic bags. The whole place is ruled by Subway—and it’s high time that we recognize that. Rename the whole place Subway. It’s only right. —Jon Lewis, Senior Sports Editor
The Clone Zone: In the upper levels of the Life Sciences building on campus exist the plant growth chambers, part of the Jeanette Goldfarb Plant Growth Facility. They are in an area where few undergraduates ever venture, but if you ever make the trip, the growth chambers are seriously creepy. Yes, they are the site of some cool and interesting science, but those rows and rows of big, warm, metal boxes hum ominously like the setting of a science-fiction movie. While they’re really just controlling the length and amount of light illuminating the plants inside, I would not be surprised if a fully formed clone (human or otherwise) just popped out of there one day. With Monsanto Hall nearby, there’s some serious “mad scientist” activity on campus already—who knows what might come next?
—Hanusia Higgins, Senior Scene Editor
The Walk of Shame: I propose rebranding the outdated, sex-negative term ‘The Walk of Shame,’—the return journey home after a night out—to refer to the equally adrenaline-pumping and much more common experience of being late to class. Step one of Walk 2.0 is easy, so easy in fact that you don’t even realize when you are doing it—spending too long chatting with friends over lunch, forgetting to set your alarm, etc. Steps one to approximately 400 involve the awkward half-jogging steps you take to make it to class. (Optional steps 400 to 600 are taken if an impromptu shortcut you improvise out of desperation takes you in the wrong direction.) The final step isn’t actually entering class sweaty and out of breath but rather stepping around rightfully peeved classmates’ knees as you find your seat in lecture.
—Jeremy Goldstein, Copy Chief