Unaware. Innocent. Youthful. These were three words that described me when, just two weeks ago, I arrived on the Vassar campus for the start of my freshman year.
In July of 2023, I got an ever-important email from Rich Horowitz informing me of my rooming assignment. I would be living on the fourth floor of Raymond House.
Unbeknownst to me, Horowitz had selected me as a victim of one of the most grave diseases that currently affects society today—the current bubonic plague, if you will. What is the disease, you may ask? Raymond Afflicted Tenant Syndrome, colloquially known as R.A.T.S.
R.A.T.S isn’t a common disease, but it certainly isn’t rare. As many as one in 12 students on the Vassar campus are currently suffering from R.A.T.S.
With no cure in sight, it is a difficult diagnosis. As a call for help and a way to raise awareness of this crippling disease, I conducted interviews with real R.A.T.S. victims. In order to conceal the identities of the participants, I have given each of them pseudonyms, representing a major symptom of the syndrome. Here are the very real transcripts from those conversations:
Cassandra Brook: Could you please describe the conditions and ways in which R.A.T.S. has irrevocably altered your life?
Stairs: Yes. Before contracting R.A.T.S, I lived in NYC on the 12th floor of my apartment. An elevator was a necessity; it was my lifeline, even. Those sweet melodies of cables hoisting my body up numerous floors were a regularity. Now, those same sounds taunt me as I trek up to my fifth-floor Raymond dorm with no elevator in sight. Oh, how I miss the days of R.A.T.S.-less innocence! My legs have begun to ache from overuse and I fear I will not walk much longer. Reminiscing on my simple past is a painful part of my new routine, one singularly inflicted by R.A.T.S.
Cassandra Brook: Could you please go into depth about the conditions of the lavatories that you use?
Murderous Bathrooms: Though the lavatories are kept spick and span, the quality of their—what I could only describe as “murder documentary”—aesthetic haunts me. Upon entrance, the color red shouts at me—blinds me even—leaving me defenseless to the mysterious and violent powers of The Sink. The Sink sits in the corner, waiting to pounce at innocent viewers with its grime-covered stomach. Accompanying The Sink is a singular cold metal chair, a reminder to always be on guard. Generations ago, pupils with R.A.T.S sat in that exact chair. They have not been seen since.
Cassandra Brook: How would you describe a typical trip to do laundry in the basement?
Failed Laundry: Doing laundry with R.A.T.S. is always a lose-lose game. After furtively walking through the basement, checking every corner and crevice (especially the area that belongs to the dirt pit) so as not to be taken hostage by ghosts, I arrive at the laundry room. I load the machines, ready to wear my clothes anew. However, when I gently remove my clothes from the dryer, they burn me. Mysteriously, my clothes are steaming hot, though I specifically put the dryer on low heat. Alas, when I unload my clothes back into my drawers, I realize that they are fit only for the mice that run rampant. Just like the Grinch’s heart, they are shrunk three sizes too small, but there is no Cindy Lou Who to save them.
As seen by these interviews, R.A.T.S. is a very real and dangerous affliction. Though not common, you MUST be on the lookout, because you and your loved ones are at risk of being its next victims. Stay safe, Vassar College.