Perhaps the most tragic element of the snowstorm that struck NYC this January was its timing. Sweeping in early Sunday morning, Columbia students who slept in late following a rowdy night on the town were alarmed to wake not only to a terrible headache, three missed calls from disappointed Life360-checking parents, a guilty conscience, and a surfeit of horny-Roaree tattoos, but also approximately 16 inches of snow (slightly above average, according to The Fed’s sources).
For one alarmed student, who immediately related his story to our expert therapist/reporters at The Fed, the timing was exceptionally awful. He awoke to find that not only was his back incredibly sore, but he also was not even in his own bed (perhaps the lack of mattress topper explained the soreness…) or even his own dorm! Nor was he alone. His hook-up from the night before, who he meant to never see again, was now his snowday buddy.
“I just, like, didn’t know how to talk to her, like, sober and in the harsh light of day,” he said. Confusion, it seemed, was the general state. “I just kind of defaulted to NSOP-style conversation, like major, hometown, all that stuff. It was just sooooooo hard to care.” Our source was subjected not only to conversation, but also, he claims, even to cooking breakfast with his one night-stand. He tried to drown her out by blasting Fred Again in his airpods, but to no avail. By the time Heated Rivalry and Harry Styles were mentioned, our poor source had been through enough—through too much, in fact. With no other options, he slipped and slid in a state of semi-undress through the snow and cold back to his own cozy dorm.
So, if you see men running half nude across campus in the next snowstorm, try not to judge, for you know not the battles they face.
