WARNING: This article contains graphic content some audiences may find disturbing. Reader discretion is advised.
I always knew my time would come to kick the bucket, but I always imagined it being on a comfortable hospital bed surrounded by my wife and kids. I certainly never thought it would happen during my sophomore year in the dining hall. Earlier this week, I was getting a Rand bowl, same as always. Quinoa, chicken, arugula, carrots, black beans, feta, guac, basil pesto, a lime, and sunflower seeds. Little did I know that it could have been the last meal I’d ever eat. You see, when I went to open my bowl on the edge of the plastic lid, I cut my finger open and it started gushing blood.
It was traumatic. One of the scariest moments of my life. I don’t have that disease where you can’t stop bleeding (no hemo), but what if I did? I could have died. Really puts things into perspective. Once the bleeding settled down and I stopped hyperventilating, I started thinking. Who would do this to me? Who tried to kill, nay, assassinate me? Well I’ve compiled a list of three suspected members of the Rand Dining Hall staff whose names I never learned because I’m a northern elitist and they are below me. I also added some money-line odds in case you want to place a bet on who it was.
- The Women Who Make the Bowls (-170): They’re the ones who actually handle my food, so naturally, they are the prime suspects. However, I don’t understand what motives they would have. I’m always tentative and focused while on the bowl line. They never have to get my attention to take my order. I speak clearly and even politely point to the things I want. Although now that I think about it, I am kinda picky with the basil pesto. Maybe they were fed up with me saying “…And just a little bit of basil pesto. Not too much though.” and they just had enough.
- The Person at the Checkout Line (+135): I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not good at paying for my lunch. I always have my wallet in my pocket and I have to put all my stuff down to get it out and take out my Commodore Card. I hold up the line a little bit each time I pay. Perhaps she was offended by that and so she tried to murder me.
- The Janitor (+210): Sometimes I cut across the grass and dirt and my shoes get dirty. I suppose I didn’t wipe my shoes enough on the mat inside. It would make sense that the janitor would be mad, but attempted manslaughter? That seems like a bit of an overreaction. Needless to say, the janitor is a bit of a long shot here.
I have already contacted VUPD and they took fingerprints and swabbed for DNA samples earlier today. They say that the boys in the lab will get my results in 4 – 6 weeks. Whatever the case may be, I’m just lucky and blessed to be alive. And once I find out who did it, I will get my revenge. Watch out Rand Dining Staff, because just like Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “When you strike at a king, you must kill him.” I’m coming for you.