She Writes is a satirical column written by a Mustang News staff member. This content is intended to be satirical and does not necessarily represent the views of Mustang News.
Jeff woke up with a headache. Things weren’t going well. The students and staff hadn’t loved the lemon grove idea like he thought they would. He didn’t understand — his plan involved everything students could possibly want. The super mall was even going to have Hooters and In-N-Out.
He got out of bed, disgruntled, and tried to put these distressing thoughts aside. He had bigger things to contemplate.
Halloween was coming up, and he still hadn’t picked a costume.
He was torn, so he decided to call an emergency meeting with all of the most important administrators. He walked to his desk and whipped out a laptop.
“Chat, draft a text to the Star Chamber group chat. Tell them to meet me ASAP in the new air-conditioned administration building and to bring costume designs,” he typed furiously.
Chat searched the depths of the internet and scraped together a strongly worded text.
“Sir Armstrong requests your immediate presence in the face of a dire emergency. Bring outfits and be ready to model them. Costumes involving horses, glitter or fishnets are highly encouraged.”
Jeff glanced at the message and nodded approvingly.
“Computah, send the message,” he said.
That afternoon, Jeff arrived at the fancy new administration building. He could barely contain his excitement. He was about to get out of his car and enter the building, but a group of students protesting the lemon grove development had crowded around the entrance.
Dealing with juvenile protests like this was below his pay grade. He preferred interacting with students who spoke to him in tones of quiet reverence. He snuck from the car and slunk through the parking lot to the back entrance of the building.
He sat down in the first row of chairs in front of a makeshift catwalk, which had been constructed upon his request. His best friends — the Most Important Administrators — began filing into the room.
The room quieted and the lights dimmed as they took their seats. Jeff kicked his feet in anticipation. Finally, he would be able to decide which Halloween costume he would wear while gracing the streets of San Luis Obispo.
2000s pop music blasted from the speakers as the first model — Victor Glover — took the stage. He was a space cowboy, dressed fabulously in an iridescent spacesuit and hot pink boots. Jeff gasped and blushed as Victor strutted down the runway.
He envied the confidence and ease with which Victor commanded the room. He wanted to be like him when he grew up, but deep down, he knew he couldn’t pull off boots like that with his cankles.
The next model walked onstage. Jeff had forgotten his name, but he sure was handsome. The sexy mystery administrator strolled down the catwalk in a clear raincoat stained with blood. He was still wearing his work clothes under it. When he reached the end, he grabbed the mic.
“Jeff, we all know you’ve been stressed out lately about this whole development business. We wanted to surprise you with a gift,” he said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box.
“To celebrate the excellent job you’ve done, we’ve printed mock-ups for a fancy new business card. You know, so people respect you. You’re the president of this institution, and these student protests have been getting out of hand. We’ve got a few options for you — pick whichever one you like best,” he said.
The handsome administrator stepped off the stage and opened the box for Jeff to look into.
“We’ve got off-white, bone, eggshell and pale nimbus,” he said.
Jeff reached into the box and examined each style, admiring their thickness and texture. He turned one over and read the small black text.
“Who’s Patrick Bateman?”