Kids don’t want housing anymore, they want to eat.
With UR’s student body trending at an all time high, projected to peak in 2042 at 38,000 undergrads, ResLife is offering a competitive buy back program for on-campus housing. The offer is a generous 20% back on room and board, with move-out being immediate and permanent.
“I’m all out of declining and need the money for food,” said junior Archibald Windsor, a sentiment shared by most upperclassmen. “When I had [a non-zero declining balance], meals were out of necessity, not comfort. Waiting in lines out the door for tens of minutes for child sized portions of bland and over cooked collard greens filled me with disappointment, not nutrition!”
Though the offer isn’t exactly fair, the students are young and desperate. Given the current mental health of the student body, this is the least of their concerns. Patricia Anderson, a junior who’s already gone through with this controversial shift, had to say, “I practically lived in Gleason already, now I get to suckle upon the ambrosia of a Peet’s latte and sleep on the uncomfortable half couches! O glorious day! O end of all calamity!”
“I’ve heard a three-inch sub could be won through a game of pool against Rocky himself on his home table,” said hungry hungry Humanities major and pool shark Margaret Snatcher. When Snatcher was asked about her concerns of a cold sub, as the sandwich toaster remains inoperable, Snatcher stated, “I am literally starving. The temperature is the least of my worries.”
Professors of the chemical engineering department are now offering a fun little opportunity for all UR students looking to complete their History cluster. For no less than 40 hours a week, you have the privilege of LARPing as a feudal serf, with all the realistic aspects of peasantry, such as revoking University health care and no longer having access to room and board. The ChemE department insists this will look wonderful on all potential resumes and reminds candidates they get to keep 40 percent of their wheat at the end of the season.
Members of certain fraternities, which shall remain nameless yet not blameless, have chosen a more primal avenue of substance. Spending their days in Genesee Valley Park, roving packs of upperclassmen accompanied by pledges take it upon themselves to secure a healthy amount of venison for the greater frat. At times, they can even be heard from the engineering quad, chanting about their nonsensical commute to the home of the pierogi.
