By Monica Greco '13
Unease is creeping through Whitman’s halls. You’ll find it in the dining hall, in the courtyard, and even hiding in the bathroom, as a roommate of mine discovered recently.
Maybe this unease isn’t as apparent to our visitors. Maybe you upper campus folk are unaware altogether-- but it is assassins season in Whitman, and this fact is hardly inconspicuous.
Indeed, it is perhaps a bit unnerving to get to the 3rd floor on the elevator and have the doors open up to an angry freshman with water gun in hand. It’s equally disconcerting to see a certain Professor/Master Harvey Rosen armed with a Friendly 538, loaded, leaking and ready to do damage.
Ah yes, but Prof. Rosen is a small fish in the world of assassins, foolishly strolling down the main path in Whitman in broad daylight. The more severe assassins you’ll find sleuthing about at night, interrogating their friends and acquaintances for information, sometimes smooth talking, sometimes being, well, a little gruff. One unarmed freshman was even caught in the bathroom, forced to defend herself with handfuls of toilet water.
Other students have taken the less aggressive route, resorting instead to dorm confinement or adopting extreme paranoia. There’s reason for this too. For instance, our ordinarily healthy, safe tradition of sharing extra food has taken a turn for the malicious. No—“pizza in the 2nd floor 1981 lounge” is no longer representative of earnest gastronomic altruism, but rather raises suspicion. The good people of Whitman are sometimes compassionate, however, warning their fellow Whitmanites over Whitmanwire, “it’s a trap!” But is it? When maliciousness abounds, who’s to say that this wasn’t an unceremonious attempt for one greedy Whitmanite to throw a wrench into our wonderful food sharing culture, or to keep all the pizza for himself?
The world of assassins is severe and impassioned, the assassins fierce, the people afraid, and the language peppered with allusions to John Wilkes Booth and Che Guevara.