Well, Dartmouth, now that we've survived the apocalypse, we've realized that everything we thought we knew about the future was wrong. Once upon a time we thought that those who warned of the apocalypse were crazy; we, on the other hand, were too smart for such foolishness. But then Dec. 21 happened.
We used to dismiss the idea that Dartmouth's rural location left us disconnected from the rest of the world. The administration bragged that Dartmouth prepared future global leaders and conducted research that would help to solve problems worldwide.
But after Dec. 21, we realized that none of that mattered anymore. We couldn't be sure that the rest of the world still existed, and we didn't really want to find out. It's true that we can't predict what's happening out there who survived, who might be waging war and we know that it might too dangerous to find out. So we did what we do best: isolated ourselves.
At first, nothing really changed, even as the administration focused on its new dream of a college that would "isolate and create." Though these new goals were a reversal of the Dartmouth we once knew, we took comfort in the fact that they were still general and far-reaching.
Everything sounded good in theory, but implementation was a different story. The athletic department took the idea of "isolation" and ran with it, creating the Dartmouth Protective Army to guard the outskirts of the campus at all times and fight if necessary.
The College recruited all varsity athletes to man this force, complete with newly minted body armor courtesy of Vox Sportswear, though training hours remained essentially the same.
Non-athletes soon rallied against the institutionalization of the supposed physical superiority of these "varsity" soldiers.
Many argued that they were as fit as any athlete or more, citing their capoeira and spinning classes during sophomore spring. With the fear that the "Nonners No More" movement would lead to significant unrest, the army opened training to anyone who could pass an initial physical fitness test.
Aside from these minor upheavals, all remained relatively calm, until students realized that Dartmouth Dining Services was putting out two-day old food that soon became three-day old food.
As CVS emptied its shelves and Yama took all fish dishes off the menu, it quickly occurred to students that isolation meant an imminent food shortage.
The buzz about the arrival of President-elect Philip Hanlon '77 became irrelevant in the face of concern over the Desperate Dining Situation. At this point, it was not just the future direction of the College but its actual physical existence that was at stake and it was all in the hands of DDS.
With far more immediate concerns at hand, the College placed all preparations for Hanlon's arrival on hold, and snow quickly swamped the president's house. Students looking to complete the Dartmouth Seven before graduation were met with an frozen tundra, dashing many sexual hopes.
Some students, mostly doe-eyed '16s and a few fresh-faced '15s remained hopeful, talking about how they love the food here, especially FoCo, and how they trusted DDS's ability to figure out a way to provide endless delicious food for the student body.
Still, to most, the idea that the survival of Dartmouth was in the hands of DDS was terrifying, especially to those who declared, "I never go to FoCo" and "I only eat at Collis".
As the food situation became increasingly desperate some students even admitted to buying a sandwich from the Novack vending machine students sought ways to provide their own sustenance. Many flocked to Dartmouth Outing Club organizations in search of survival skills, most notably Bait and Bullet and the Organic Farm.
While the implementation of the idea of "isolation" has been detrimental enough, an emphasis on "creation" at Dartmouth as an institution of literal "life-long learning," since students were no longer able to leave proved too stressful for some students.
Again, many students flocked to the DOC, learning key wilderness skills from Cabin and Trail and the Mountaineering Club and took off into the woods, never to be seen again.
Students have left campus in numbers so high that recent population counts suggest that Dartmouth is now smaller than your high school.
Chaos reigned until President-elect Hanlon came for a meet-and-greet and ended up assuming his presidency months earlier than the scheduled July 1 start date. Though outsiders usually cannot be trusted, students and faculty made an exception for Hanlon as an alumnus and a Board of Trustees-approved leader.
As the only person currently at Dartmouth with experience in the post-apocalyptic outside world, Hanlon provided us with crucial knowledge: the rest of the world survived the apocalypse too, and is going on the way it always has, although Snapchat is now the primary form of communication. Only with this knowledge and Hanlon's experience as a student here can we begin to rebuild the Dartmouth of old.
