[Disclaimer: This article is part of our April Fools’ Day issue.]
Geese. Loud. Obnoxious. Residents of New York. An especially prevalent topic on the Vassar College campus last semester. Aggressive?—perhaps. Unable to perform on “Saturday Night Live” due to an “inability to account for interspecies differences,” or so I have been told by Lorne Michaels. That is right, I am not talking about the band behind widespread tax evasion cases this year, but rather their avian namesake. With most of the geese gone from our quad, leaving us with a nicer smell but noticeably fewer opportunities to watch nervous tour groups navigate around the gaggles, it seems most of The Miscellany News’ readership has flown away with them. Full paper baskets sit untouched across our campus, leaving the hard work of our staff and our otherwise pro-Geese—band and bird—sentiments unappreciated.
So, I donned my galoshes and waded into the murky but luckily shallow depths of Sunset Lake to find out what exactly happened to our readership and, slightly less importantly, to our avian friends. (Spoiler alert:) our talks went sour.:)
With a waterproof notebook and a tiny microphone in hand—the same kind I have both dreams and nightmares about approaching me on our criss-crossing sidewalks to inquire what song I am currently listening to—ideas about topics for my interviewees swirled amongst the luckily watercress-free but concerningly viscous waters. Why have Vassar’s geese lost their intellectual spark? When can we expect The Miscellany News to be relevant again? Would a paper basket left by our distributors at their shore aid in our cause to promote student journalism and solve the problems of a small, academically rigorous, historically women’s liberal arts college forever?—or, at least, get the admin to renovate any of Raymond House’s bathrooms?
Here is what I learned first:) Geese do not like microphones. Here is what I learned second:) Geese do not seem to understand what it means to record their answers “for the record.” Third and fourth:) Geese do not know how to schedule an interview or accept an invite on Google Calendar. I approached them unsolicited. So please, bear with me. I am typing with what fingers remain.
The first of a particular gaggle I found on that brisk 85-degree Poughkeepsie winter’s day seemed to be a long-time reader and fan of The Miscellany News. This was made apparent when he proceeded to peck and prod at an Opinions piece on the importance of water fountain access and its implications on the proto-capitalist motivations behind our working class’ hydration.
“Good point,” I responded simply.
The next goose I interviewed was an avid fan of Gordon Commons. When I held out a vegan chocolate chip cookie, she went back to Sweets for seconds. (I have a knuckle tattoo, “SWEETS” across my right hand and the index and forefinger of my left. I dare you to match my level of fandom.:)
The third, fourth, fifth and sixth geese/gooses/gise had big ideas for how to make the paper relevant, and pointed with their feathery fingers to reasons which could explain the decline in our readership.
“Honk. Honk,” said the second goose, followed by a squeal so concerningly high-pitched that I thought it had come from the whistle of the lifeguard standing alongside a Campus Response Center officer watching me carefully from shore through their tinted driver’s seat window. Poignant, really.
The third goose gave a flap of its wings when I held out our latest issue for reference, and with the gust of air the pages turned to our Sports section. “That’s it!” I exclaimed. “You’re so right. We’re missing the intramural pickleball league beat.”
Perhaps, they offer hope that The Miscellany News can rise to meet the demands of our increasingly modern and diverse audience.
Upon my safe arrival back at shore, and supposed “short-term suspension” from classes due to risk of “avian flu infection” and “a myriad of bacteria” present in what I thought were the clear beautiful waters of our only lake on campus (say goodbye to my summer snorkeling plans:), I still did not have the answers I was looking for. None of these geese seemed to have the real reason for our decline in readership. The ones that were avid fans claimed to be up to date on their Miscellany reading even after their return home—and looking forward to this issue, mind you—and those that were not already avid readers did not seem any more or less convinced to take up the paper with their morning cup of burnt gasoline water a.k.a. Retreat joe.
So what could it be? Was the departure of the geese from our quad indicative of a larger movement away from Vassar’s student-run paper of note circa 1866, but not the real reason behind our decline at all? Had I been wrong all along? Can geese read?
Walking to class one morning through a carpet of stinky ginkgo leaves, with a plastic cup of watered-down burnt gasoline water plus caramel creamer in my reduced clutches, I found my answer. A single squirrel ran across the path—the first of the season. He stopped for a moment on a yellow leaf and gazed up at me with one beady eye.
In his jaws, the scrap of a headline. I could recognize the strangely-kearned size 30 pt. Edita book font anywhere.
I rushed to grab my phone with my remaining seven fingers.