It’s like news from a sinking ship: text messages, calls from borrowed cell phones, and internet cafe e-mails have been pouring in recently from those stranded in exotic spring break locales (including the ridiculous number congregating here). The nastiness outside in New York grounded over a thousand planes, foiling the homework plans and sinking the budgets of partiers scattered across the Carribean.
Perhaps most troublingly, it seems that key members of the student government are missing. The CCSC VP Funding is stuck in the Bahamas, the VP Communications is stuck in Fort Lauderdale, and the senior class president is somewhere between here and Jamaica. Thankfully, the VP Policy is safe at Columbia, and we can only presume that the President and VP Campus life are in secure, undisclosed locations.
The VP Communications sends these observations from Fort Lauderdale:
Man on Phone: “It’s so fucked up. It’s so fucked up, Steph.”
Woman, probably wife, on other end: “…”
Man: “What the fuck do you want me to do? Grow wings and fly? I don’t feel good.”
Man: “Why don’t I try to rebook it? What the fuck do you think I’ve been doing for the last 30 minutes? Can’t you just call them from home and pretend that you’re me?”
Man: “OK! You’re a woman! Not a good plan. I need to go. I need to eat. I’m getting dizzy.”
More after the jump…
“I just went to the Greyhound station, which was fully stocked with hot GIRLS and BOYS looking very afraid of the CRACK addicts and people AFRAID to FLY. One group, hailing from Rutgers University, expressed amazement that it would take 28 hours to make it back to New Jersey.
The people of Florida, however, are a kind people. I’m sitting in a Starbucks writing this missive, waiting for my new flight down in West Palm Beach (yes, I’ll be visiting 8th & Ocean before my flight), and one of the barista associate employees offered me the use of cellphone because mine has no JUICE. The chairs are luxurious here: fine green velvet chairs being enjoyed by middle-aged men between the ages of 35