A Sickly Victorian Writer Spends A Night At Oberlin

Captain Ruffles Contributor

It was a dark and stormy night, and the precipitation bore down like a hail of cold arrows. The road to Oberlin College was treacherous, but my carriage nonetheless arrived punctually outside South Hall. Upon setting foot in the residential hall, I made my way to my assigned Room 219.

I was taken aback by a note nailed to the door that stated that my assigned lodging was now occupied by three displaced students sharing a single bed and that I would be promptly relocated to Room 369 in North. The letter was signed with the words “best regards” as to alleviate my stress. I attempted to vacate South Hall in pursuit of North, but quickly found myself trapped.

Every instance I believed I found the staircase to freedom was revealed to be false hope. I cannot explain how or why, but the hallways of South are alive and endless. They are haunted by the sounds of laughing men who dislike deodorant and musicians pushed to the brink of burnout. The building is a ghoulish trickster of the highest regard; a riddle wrapped in an enigma hidden within a conundrum designed to test the limits of sanity. Fortunately, I am British.

While taking refuge in a bathroom, I happened upon a greasy young fellow of ambigu - ous gender presentation who went by the alias of “Flip”. I asked Flip if many of the residents of this higher-education institution shared such distinguished ambiguous gender features like them. Flip said many did. At this point, Flip floated and guided me out of South Hall. I will forever be grateful for them.

Flung out of the jaws of South, I persevered through the freezing rain. While I made safe passage to North, I was not prepared for my stay. My room was the size of a shoebox, but no matter, one has to be grateful to have a roof over one’s head. More disturbing was the ability to hear with perfect clarity what one’s neighbors were saying or doing.

As a distinguished gentleman of pristine prudence, I do not enjoy overhearing the sexual exploits of my fellow residents. Especially when they involve the lactation fetishes of Manhattan millionaire sons with their Midwestern cowgirl girlfriends (complete with moo imitations). Perhaps this is the price of education, and I as a mere temporary traveler cannot grasp the intent of the infrastructure of this institution.

I cannot imagine how one can successfully pursue one’s educational needs at a school like this. I wish these Oberlin students the best of luck. They’ll need it.