U0 science student still trapped in the Adams Auditorium disaster zone

This excerpt belongs to a series of documents recovered from the FDA stairwell. They are speculated to originate from during the Adams Auditorium Ceiling Tile Blitzkrieg.

As I write this, I am currently trapped in the fifth row of seats in the Adams Auditorium. I wish I could leave–I wish I could be free to toil through WebWork in Schulich, or even feel the crunch of snow beneath my feet again–but as the ceiling tiles fall left and right, I find myself paralyzed with fear, unable to run as a precariously bent tile looks greedily towards the ground.

It all began last Monday. It was a day like any other, and as I sat in my usual spot in Adams, I noticed that something seemed off. Maybe it was the fact that the newly installed projector suspiciously ceased to function. Maybe it was the giant X made of yellow caution tape thrown across the entire fourth row. Or it may have been the mysterious water that seeped through the ceiling tiles. Regardless, no one could have seen what was coming next. As I found myself dozing off through the third clicker question of the lecture, an unmistakable, unforgettable thud was heard throughout the auditorium. I will never forget that sound. An entire ceiling tile had fallen onto the roped off seats and landed violently on the ground, just like Aja did in the premiere of RuPaul’s Drag Race All Stars 3.

Since then two more tiles have fallen, the puddles keep growing, and the water is slowly rising. I am now ankle-deep in brown water. I don’t know how much longer I can hang on. There are only so many empty Roddick Roast cups I can use to collect the dripping water. At this point, the question is no longer “Will another tile fall?” but “When will the next fall?” I have fashioned a hat out of one of the many “McGill 24” posters to offer myself meager protection from the falling debris and the dripping water. The ink that once proudly read “Thank You to Our 30,000 Donors for Keeping Our Campus Beautiful” has long washed away, leaving only streaks of red and white on my sorry face. The syllabus says that there’s a General Chemistry 2 lecture scheduled here at 10:05, so I will shoulder this burden for as long as I am able. IF YOU FIND THIS PLEASE SEND HELP.

This article is a work of satire and is part of the Tribune’s 2018 Joke Issue.

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