Being a York student, I am often asked “Madd how has life been post strike?” The simple answer to this question would be: tight. Very, very, tight.

I will go on the record for this one time, this will likely turn a few of my friends into foes, by stating that the militant excuses of capitalists in commie clothing have created a confining situation for nearly 50 000 students—I say nearly because the amount of students who disserted their posts during the three month stint.
The words confining really do not do justice for the exact, prison rape would likely be more preferable to this—I say likely because I luckily have not been put into this situation… yet.
Actually, another analogy comes to mind, please disregard any cultural stereotypes if you find them offensive, or slanderous in any way, actually, if you are too caught up with in the offensiveness of the cultural stereotypes, it would seem that my analogy has not had the desired effect.
Picture a sparsely decorated hotel room. The sparseness of the room is only accentuated by the overall disheveled state that it perpetually exists within; we are talking the sort of scene normally associated with low budget porno films.
Against the peeling teal wallpapered walls is the rusted remains of a headboard and the bed frame that resembles a torturous cast away from the Spanish Inquisition, a lumpy mattress rests comfortably, in defiance to the sort of possibility. Lights glare down from robotic constructions that remain still and silent. Two video cameras are already rolling, taking in the actions of a single, female, her stature is that of a midget, or politically referred to as “a little person”. Her stubby legs are wrapped in fish net stockings that are barely concealed by a miniskirt that would fit a five year old, a hot pink halter-top contains her unusually large mammary glands.
She waits patiently for her partner to arrive, and when he does, the horror of what is about to occur can only begin to dawn upon any onlooker.
He stands at seven foot ten, and is the porno-perfect union of 1/3 African, 1/3 Polish, and 1/3 Native American. To say his reputation exceeds him would be to deny the enormous hard-on that is more than 13 inches away from his belly. He whispers words of comfort as he greases himself up, assuring the little lady that everything will be fine, and that he will be as gentle as possible.
But as the act accelerates in momentum it becomes apparent that the well being of this poor individual is nowhere in mind.
Her screams for mercy fall upon deaf ears.
“This is too large, it wont fit.”

This is the sentiment that most York Students seem to be resounding right now as the administration of the university attempts to save the year by compacting four months into roughly three.
We were promised compassion and understanding, but these greasy sentiments appear to have dried up and become rough memories for us to forget about. Like those empty words that most hockey players share with their potential puck bunny turned pillow bunny, there is no love here.

But, I cannot bitch, too much at least, because I myself am just as responsible for these actions as those capitalists in commie clothing. “Thus there are no accidents in a life; a community event which suddenly bursts forth and involves me in it does not come from the outside. If I am mobilized in a war, this war is my war; it is in my image and I deserve it. I deserve it first because I could always get out of it by suicide or by desertion; these ultimate possibles are those which must always be present for us when there is a question of envisaging a situation. For a lack of getting out of it, I have chosen it.” (Sartre 195).
It seems that my googely-eyed hero has set me straight again. I did not desert my post, nor did I do myself in; therefore, I now must prepare to with stand the battle that is these last two weeks of this extended school year.
We all are in the places that we are in because of the choices that have been made. These places may not feel comfortable at the present time; however, we were and still are free to make many others. To stand on one side and point fingers at the other may entice an experiential feeling of elation, but it is important to remember that the other side will be pointing back, and it was a choice to become involved in this game of finger pointing that will eventually cause it to exceed ad nauseum.
For myself, I am through complaining about this situation. The more I do it, the less time I spend trying to get past it, for the complaining isn’t exactly solving any issues, the getting down to business is.

Carpe Stuff


Work Cited
Sartre, Jean-Paul. Jean-Paul Sartre: Basic Writings. Ed. Priest, Stephen. New York: N.Y. Routledge, 2001.