Butler Archetype: The Skyper
Written by Bwog Staff
You’ve met dope-fiends, borrowers, human roadblocks, and phantoms. In this, the latest iteration of Butler Archetypes, Bwog contributor Alex Svokos muses over that most amorous of Butler mavens: The Skyper.
You’ve got it— finally.
Your thesis. It’s been hours of grueling Butler strife. Gallons of Blue Java coffee. Sixteen cigarette breaks…
No, but you finally have it. A full day in 210. You have your thesis. And you’re about to type it out.
Wait. What’s that? That… bell noise? It’s like a distant call to worship… or a text… or a doorbell… What is it?
It’s The Skyper.
She will be in the center of Butler 209 with three small notebooks, a laptop, earbuds, and a cold cup of weird Tazo tea (how long has she been here?). Facebook and gChat in the Skyper’s native tongue will be open with four chats per sign-in. But it’s not enough for her. She logs into Skype, and is immediately invited to a video call.
The person on the other line is of the opposite sex and lounging, like Bacchus. He will smile demurely, wave, and will reveal a playful expression, at which the Skyper will hold the laptop in the air and rotate it to prove that they are, in fact, vid-chatting in the library. The Skypee will talk and the Skyper will respond with overdone facial expressions and by typing in the text chat. Plenty of coy expressions abound.
The video is shifted to the side of the screen by the Skyper, as she opens a notebook, a Word document, and a displays a serious face to start work. The Skypee will remain onscreen (you’ve realized, by now, that he’s in 209), staring vacantly—meaningfully—at the Skyper. Every so often they will smile at each other or type a series of sensual messages, accompanied by winking emoticons and more than a few bouts of suppressed giggles. From time to time, the virtual person will conspicuously point out people in the library.
“LOL,” he’ll type.
After forty minutes the Skyper, with but half of a paragraph written, will type “BRB going back to room ;)” close the laptop, and leave. The residents of 209 will collectively roll their eyes with dejection and frustration.
Next time, keep it in John Jay.