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Dear Power Outlet, My Dearest Darling Love

A collection of letters to that one power outlet in Shannon Library

There you were, right in front of me. You were beautiful with your shiny porcelain cover that perfectly contrasted with the wooden panel you were placed on.
There you were, right in front of me. You were beautiful with your shiny porcelain cover that perfectly contrasted with the wooden panel you were placed on.

Editor’s note: This article is a humor column. 

January 26, 2024 at 2:59 p.m.

Dear Power Outlet, 

My dearest darling love, the circumstances around our first meeting were so promising, but you have left me feeling empty and grieving. I remember our first meeting like it was five minutes ago — maybe because it has taken me five minutes since meeting you to recover, open the Notes App on my phone and start typing this. 

When I initially walked through the big front doors and entryway of our new and improved main library — which looked suspiciously like a chess board — I was simply left in awe. The world around me was blooming with new possibilities. If my tuition money could fund a space this beautiful, then we as a university community could do anything. Inspired, I pictured a beautiful alternate universe with sidewalks wide enough to let everyone walk as fast as they pleased and GrubHub apps that still let you cheat the check-in system. It was glorious. Little did I know, I was mere seconds away from becoming a pawn in a loveless game. 

Feeling like a changed woman, I scouted for a good study spot and settled on a secluded desk that called to me. I opened my laptop with a smile on my face and hope in my heart. Ugh — I had forgotten to charge it this morning! Well, that was clearly no problem for this beautiful new library with beautiful new outlets. 

This is the moment we met. There you were, right in front of me. You were beautiful with your shiny porcelain cover that perfectly contrasted with the wooden panel you were placed on. Ah yes, the University had really outdone themselves this time. It was love at first sight. As I fished my charger out of my overly-cluttered and beaten up backpack, I felt, deep in my burnt-out heart, that this would be the start of a beautiful relationship. 

Wait — why isn’t my laptop charging? Well f–ck

Sincerely, 

Your heartbroken beloved with a dead laptop and dead dreams

February 22, 2024 at 4:23 p.m.

Dear Power Outlet,

Hello again, my dearest darling love, the fried chicken to my West Range Caesar Salad, the crossing guard to my McCormick Road. 

I was still devastated by your betrayal when I woke up this morning and keen on avoiding you like I avoid the tour groups while walking across Grounds in my pajamas. Yet, as I was heading towards Clemons Library today, I ran into a friend who told me that her power outlet worked the last time she found herself within Shannon Library. She said, and I quote, “I found a working outlet in there!” 

That was all the proof I needed to know that you had changed your ways. Maybe the suspiciously scrumptious food I had at Newcomb Hall earlier today was clouding my judgment, but, in that moment, I truly believed that you never meant to hurt me. My beloved, you were simply having a bad day. 

So when I sat down next to you today, I hope you know that I pictured a beautiful future together. I was there. You were there. I was using you. You loved it. Oh, it was going to be so magical! I excitedly fished out my smart watch charger to test if our connection was strong enough to charge my little watch with a little battery. Alas! Just like my watch’s battery life, our future together was short lived! 

I will mourn this loss as I stomp over to Clemons Library and try not to let my excitement for the underground tunnel between the two libraries overshadow my endless grief and unimaginable disappointment. 

Sincerely, 

Your inconsolable beloved with no sense of time or purpose 

March 28, 2024 at 11:57 p.m. 

Dear Power Outlet, 

My dearest darling love, the concussion to my midnight snowball fights on the Lawn, the 2023 sewage flood to my Brown Residential College, I know I should not have come back. At this point, I know better, my friends know better, even the random child that ran in here while on a tour of Grounds knows better, but I simply could not help myself. You call out to me like the Got Dumplings food truck calls out to half of the student body on Food Truck Friday, and I am too weak to resist you.

It’s late at night. I have multiple assignments to do and little sparkle left to spread, but I still believe. I believe in you, I believe in us, I believe in the potential we have to thrive together. At this moment, I believe we can fix our relationship as I seek you out while in my pajamas and fuzzy pink slippers that I forgot to change out of while running out of the house. The stakes have never been higher — my phone is dying and with it my last desperate hopes that we can make this work. 

You see, this phone holds all of our letters, all of our hopes and dreams, all of the chances we have at a future together. I am haphazardly typing this letter as I frantically attempt to connect with you before we forever lose the possibility of a wonderful life together. We can make this work, I know we can. Darling, do not forsake me, I know that you and I have the potential to — 

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