With the lack of appropriate October weather, there has been a noticeably missing motif on campus: the Canada Goose. To gain an insider’s perspective on this epidemic, staff writer, Megan Wylie, jumped into her closet to get in the head of her dusty, aging parka.
We always hear about the effects of Climate Change on polar bears, and on penguins, and on humans; But do we ever hear about the true victims? It’s nearing the end of October but I, a carefully crafted manifestation of goose feathers and trust funds, have remained in the back of a closet. Thrown amongst old prep school sweatshirts and cashmere throws, I spend my days in envy of the short sleeve tees that have taken my place.
Homecoming has come and gone, but I remain unused. October is typically the month when my long summer hibernation comes to an end, and I resume my daily position outside of Butler with the rest of my flock. Every day I hope for a sudden plunge in temperatures, yet it is still 70 degrees outside.
Gone are the days that I complained about being pelted with gin and tonics in the back booth of 1020, or about the pitiful waits outside Mel’s in subzero terrains. Instead, I woke up one morning and with a coating of white powder on my waterproof exterior, and I thought, could it be? The beautiful feeling of snow that I longed for? I soon realized my excitement was premature, and it was just a thin layer of cocaine that had been the result of my owner’s tryst with an international student.
I have struggled to find meaning in this new world I am being forced into, one without the familiar must of American Spirits and black coffee. I used to find a purpose in representing the archetypical collegiate co-ed’s winter uniform. While some peers found my overwhelming presence contentiously symbolizing privilege, I worked viscerally and humbly to hold a prime spot in Ref every weeknight.
With the increase in Climate Change denial, I wonder…will it ever stop? Will I ever see the sun again? Or am I just destined to remain in the darkness of a crowded closet, living out my days until my feathers fall out one by one? As I wait for my day of judgment in this bleak closet, I can only pray to my Goose god for the return of imminent, brisk, East Coast weather.
Thankful that my glory was captured in this picture via The Independent