As the semester begins to rear its ugly, more-than-expected-workload head, students find themselves studying more and more. Of the many opportune places, one study spot rises to the top: the numerous lawns scattered across the campus. Students are drawn to the well-kept grass, perhaps being wooed by the many ants’ siren calls to relax while the weather is still nice.
Thus, vitamin-D-deficient students rush the lawns from the hours of 12 to 6 p.m., filling their (allegedly not-) asbestos-infected lungs with sweet fresh air and the opportunity to prove themselves as both academically and aesthetically superior. Such a noble pursuit is not without its drawbacks. There has been an unfortunate uptick in lawn-based violence. No green area is safe—and considering we are an arboretum, there are a lot of them.
The students’ weapons of choice are surprisingly variable, and much of it depends on the location. On the Library Lawn, Longchamp bags are wielded like Olympic hammers. The Nircle is where the most Owala-based crimes occur. Even the humble frisbee is used as an implement of horrible violence on the quad. No matter the chosen weapon, one throughline is clear: It seems that if a 3-by-7-foot patch of grass is free, you must rush the space with the same mentality that many Vassar students had while entering the Phoebe Bridgers Ticketmaster queue. Just as they left Bridgers’ Brooklyn show sold out, they did not leave any lawn space to be claimed.
In pursuit of true journalism, I mentally interviewed two of the combatants. I did not actually ask them because I was scared of the bloodthirsty look in their eyes. Both of them decided to stay anonymous. They know who they are. One fighter telepathically explained to me, “There are rules to this,” citing the portion of the Student Handbook regarding proper lawn space usage that was written in invisible ink. The student stressed that, as extreme as it is, there are careful limits as to proper fighting etiquette. One limit states that no textbooks or printed readings are to be used in physical altercation due to their exorbitantly high value: “Even when we fight, we still go to the nerd school that is Vassar College. If that rule was to be broken, the whole system would cave down and it would be anarchy.” When asked about their motivations to engage in combat, another student communicated with me, with just one second of eye contact, “I want to feel superior to everyone.”
The fighting, though incredibly common, ends relatively quickly. Once the dispute is settled and the loser departs in the loving arms of Vassar EMS or President of Vassar College Elizabeth Bradley herself, the winners take a moment for themselves. Once enlightenment is achieved, they lay their blanket down and begin to do their work as if they did not commit multiple heinous crimes.
One can only hope for fall’s merciful arrival so that this chaos can stop. In the name of clarity, I wrote this on the grass. I am no better than all of you. Go forth and conquer, Brewers.