Butler Archetypes: The Indiscreet Whisperers
Written by Bwog Staff
You may be getting ready to forsake Butler and head home for break, but there are a few individuals who would never dream of abandoning its marble walls and fancy woodwork: the Butler Archetypes. Lend your ear (eyes?) to Aurally Annoyed Bijan Samareh as he profiles those study buddies who stick out like a
giant snow penis sore thumb: the Indiscreet Whisperers.
Rather than marvel at that poster of Africa you bought at the flea market over the weekend (along with a pair of thick-rimmed glasses and a vintage T-shirt that’s so nineties), today you decide it’s best to bid your dorm room farewell for the afternoon in hopes of making some headway on that long overdue Courseworks post.
Halfheartedly, you pack your things and leave the vast land of Carman six for Butler—but not before running your finger along the map’s central mountain range that’s actually raised.
Upon arrival, you survey your surroundings, hoping to score a location with a bit of privacy and a power outlet. To your dismay, all the best cubbies are taken, so you settle for a table that’s already half-occupied. As you wait for your MacBook to boot up and reflect on just how worldly your Africa poster must make you look, it happens.
“Pshshphsshph,” says the person in front of you to their friend.
“Oh! Pshhspshh,” their friend mutters in response.
It was probably just a question about Montaigne, you assume—it happens to everyone (seriously, how do you pronounce his name?). You start working on your post, but before you can even finish typing “Since the beginning of history,” it begins anew.
You wonder what could possibly be important enough to break the sacred silence of 210. You naïvely imagine that one of the two whisperers is having a severe heart attack and is seeking medical attendance.
“Pshpshph weird name pshpshph freshman,” says one. “Pshpshph so wasted!”
“But, pshpshph Carman six…” responds the other, with a knowing look.
“Well,” the first whisperer says, with a furtive glance at the door, “Pshpshph pshpshph pshpsh back alley FourLoko.”
“Pshpshph Koronet’s pshpsh dry heaving pshpshph—”
That’s it. You’re out of there. Backpack half-open, mechanical pencils flying to the ground, CourseWorks post forgotten (you’ve decided to make this assignment the one you drop), you begin your passive-aggressive statement of intent disguised as a dramatic exit. But as you frantically gather your things, you can’t help but eavesdrop on one last fragment of their conversation.
“—my mouth psh-pshpshph vomit all over pshpshph Africa poster… pshpshph actually raised!”
You wish you hadn’t.