We normally think of JJ’s as a magical place because of the curly fries and premixed jamba juice. But there’s something even more mystical going on beneath John Jay at night. We follow one Bwogger’s backpack as it discovers the secrets of JJ’s Place.
We got a swipe into JJ’s! I can’t wait to be filled with greasy food in Tupperware containers! Maybe I’ll even get to bring some mozzarella sticks back to Barnard.
My owner ran into some friends and is sitting with them now. They’re all at a big table in the back, but she left me under one of the bar seats. I’m sure she’ll be back soon enough.
See? She’s walking back this way.
…Or, she was just going back into the kitchen to get another vegetarian panini. Do I matter less than a vegetarian panini?
My owner’s getting up from the table with all her friends. Come on, you need me…
She left. But she’ll be back! I have important stuff, like… like this flyer for bible study someone gave her in November! Don’t wanna leave that behind!
By now, she’s probably gotten back to her room and realized she doesn’t have me. She’ll be back.
Now everyone’s starting to leave. No, no, this is not good. Come back!!
The last stragglers are out. The JJ’s staff are cleaning all the tables and stacking the chairs. And my owner didn’t come back. What’s going to happen to me? Am I going to be turned into chicken wings? Is Ricardo Morales going to steal me and put a tag on me? Will the ghost of Wilma sink down from her grill and enchant the ice cream machine?
NO NO WAIT I DID NOT MEAN THAT LAST SUGGESTION THAT WAS A JOKE DAMNIT
Whatthehellishappening. The fryers are back on and sticks of cheese are marching into them. All four jamba juice machines are on and starting to flood the kitchen. Free from the gaze of humans, I hop over to peer into the hallway leading from the dining room to the kitchen. There’s a faint outline of a woman at the grill, and she’s flipping… omelets? I know breakfast at night is trendy but nobody is here and nobody wants haunted omelets!
The jamba juice lake is a few inches deep now. I didn’t think the machines had that much left in them at night? Looking for higher ground, I climb onto the potato chips and pretzel cart. The croutons from the salad bar are all trying to combine into one megacrouton, and the coffee machines are making high-pitched whines to the tune of “Royals.” Still way better than half of what they normally play in JJ’s.
Three waves of those mozzarella sticks have entered and exited the fryer oil. They’ve claimed a few of the paper containers for hamburgers and used them as boats to cross Jamba River (current depth: 8 inches). Linking together, they climb up to the salad bar and claim the megacrouton as a head for their mozzarella stick figure. It sings along with the coffee machines. The ghost behind the grill shows no signs of getting bored of making omelets. I just want to be back in my dorm room…
The Jamba Sea has finally ceased development, with a maximum depth three feet. The haunted omelets have piled up to near the ceiling. The mozzarella figure is swimming laps by the foosball table, and all the TV’s are just flashing lights to go along with the coffee machine’s rousing club remix rendition of “Take Me To Church.” I’m hungry. But I can’t even get from this cart to the haunted omelets.
I don’t want to be trapped here forever. Why’d she have to go find friends to eat with? She could have stayed with me and checked her phone and pretended to study history notes. That would have been easier. This party is just too crazy. I’m tired, and I want to go home…
I’m awakened by the sound of the opening JJ’s doors. Four mysterious people, looking pretty old and important, and wearing suits, are led in by a man with an awful toupee. In my drowsy state, I’m not sure what I’m seeing, but it looks like… they’re drinking the ocean of juice. Oh my god, it’s like a drain. They’re just drinking it all! This is inhuman!
Leaving as mysteriously as they entered, the five of them slurp the last bits of frozen fruit juice off of the floor before departing. There’s no sight of the mozzarella sticks anymore, I think they climbed out a window onto Amsterdam. With the river cleared, I climb down from my cart, grab a haunted omelet, and go to the front desk of JJ’s. My owner had better come back first thing in the morning.
She came back! She does care! She really does love me/has important notes inside me and has to study!
But if she ever leaves me alone in JJ’s again, she’d better leave me somewhere high. I never want to be soaked in Jamba Juice ever again.
Mysterious JJ’s turn up via Shutterstock