Editor’s Note

Tejas Joshi


To understand how it all began, we need to start in the belly of the beast which, on this hot March morning, was the collective stomach of the entire Athenian executive board. We had congregated in Wade Oval, engaging in customary shenanigans in preparation for our weekly lunch. Mahima was reading through her new thesaurus with a crestfallen expression. Ashley and JP had begun placing signs reading “Veale” in front of Kelvin Smith Library, Tinkham Veale University Center and Thwing Center in preparation for the prospies visiting later that day. The rest of us had gathered to sort through several trash bags full of fan mail for that week.

Eventually, Anastazia’s special order from L’Albatros was delivered. The rest of the staff eagerly circled around the basket as I began to pull out the much-anticipated food.

“Alright,” I called out. “We have café au lait, des chaussons aux pommes, des oeufs brouillés…”

I trailed off in horror.

“Oh no,” David cried out. “This is breakfast food. At lunch.”

“What a calamitous and flagitious deed,” decried Mahima, now determined not to suffer buyer’s remorse.

“Unacceptable,” declared Paul, who has always had a delicate constitution, and also, a delicate Constitution which he now carefully unrolled. “Article 6 clearly states that only….”

We ignored his mutters.

“I bet I know what happened,” Michael asserted. “We’ve been sabotaged by another SEC organization.”

“Sure, let’s investigate that before considering any other options,” I replied.

I directed the staff to split up and find out what the other Student Executive Council organizations had been doing that morning. A few hours later, we all returned with our findings.

“USG has been busy holding a giveaway where they just return the winner’s Student’s Activity Fee,” explained Shounak.

“I checked on RHA,” Letty announced. “They haven’t budged from constructing a new residence hall.”

“And UPB has been at Thwing Tuesday all morning,” announced Erin. “It’s just Adderall at this point in the semester.”

Similarly, the others recounted how the organizations they checked on had been cleared of suspicion. Well, that could only mean one thing—the traitor was one of us all along. I called Anastazia, our only missing member, to ask where she had been all day.

“I’ve been working on that story about that humanities student that’s rumored to exist somewhere on campus,” she explained. “Some prospies just had a spotting. Why, is something wrong with the brunch food I ordered?”

“Brunch? What is this brunch? Some hellish portmanteau of breakfast and lunch?” I gasped.

“So this was your doing all along? I accept your confession and resignation,” I spit out and hung up.

“Hooray,” cried Kushagra, now the Managing Editor. “But she was the only one who knew what the next issue theme would be. What should we do?”

“I’m feeling a bit villainous,” I announced. “Let’s do…. The Brunch Issue.”

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