Suddenly, I awoke in a cold sweat. It was three in the morning on a Thursday and my recurring nightmare had recurred. Wide awake and thoroughly startled, I glanced at my unresponsive roommate, and, finding no solace there, decided to write down the details of my dream in the hopes of finding some closure.
My dream began as I was late for class. I had awoken only to confirm that my English class had started 20 minutes ago, a direct result of the fact that I set my alarm for 7:30 p.m. I raced to throw on some clothes and a hat to hide the tumbleweed on my head, and bolted through the door towards my flailing participation grade.
Finally I made it to my class, only to find it dark and empty. This was curious, and my watch confirmed that I was only supposed to be 40 minutes late. I checked the room number and my schedule, but still found myself mystified. Only then did I start to look around and try in vain to find anyone else around.
Utterly confused, I started to panic. Was there an incoming nuke alert that I somehow missed? Was it fall break in February? I made my way in the direction of the Lawn, and there I saw in the distance a slowly approaching group. I could just barely make out the block letters on their shirts: University Guides.
What luck! U-Guides would definitely be able to tell me what was going on. As they approached, however, their expressions began to change. No longer were they smiling in a way that encouraged questions about transfer credits, they were instead exhibiting a fierce, determined look that scared the Jefferson right out of me. Then it hit me. This was the U-Guide apocalypse.
I turned and ran as fast as I could. I made it to the Amphitheater and realized I had no need to break a sweat, as these U-Guides posed no physical threat. They had been trained to only move backwards so as to be able to engage with prospective students as they toured, and thus maintained an underwhelming top speed. It was when they began to speak in unison that I smelled death.
They chanted a perfectly trained dialogue, consisting of something like reasons to live on Grounds after my first year in one of the many upperclass housing options.
I managed to cause a brief diversion by saying, “Look, there’s Tony Bennett!” And sprinted back towards the Rotunda. Soon enough, due to their freakish locating skills, they found me and it seemed that I was done for. Then something miraculous happened. My phone rang. Being the good University student I am, my ringtone is the “Good Ol’ Song,” and I believe it may have saved my life. As soon as the opening notes played, the eyes of the U-Guides rolled back into their heads and as one unit they stood, shoulder to shoulder, and belted the words.
It was then that I woke up, their voices ringing in my ears. Later that day, I ran into a tour group led by you-know-who, and had to fight the urge to run for my life.
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