CapU’s administrators respond to an article written by the Vancouver Sun on the state of the dorms by spending 24 hours living there.
Jordan Tomlinson (he/him) // Humour Editor
Andrei Gueco (he/him) // Illustrator
Capilano University’s dorms have always been a point of contention with some claiming them to be unlivable and others arguing that they are extremely unlivable. Needless to say, the hot-button topic made its way around campus and after being amplified by a Vancouver Sun article, the school was forced to make a statement.
‘Maybe you’re all just a bunch of babies?’ said Student Life Administrator Rob Lovett in an official letter to the student body, announcing that he and two other members of CapU’s administration would be spending 24 hours living within the dorms. ‘I think everyone is just being a little bit dramatic,’ he continues, ‘We look forward to setting the record straight.’
That evening, with no time wasted, he and his colleagues Rob Mills and Rob Largo entered Seymour Hall. Being greeted by the kind security guard, held back by his three layers of plexi-glass—for his own protection, of course—the three are escorted by their resident advisor (RA) to a single room with two beds. She explains that they are, ‘lucky they even got a room.’ ‘Everyone’s a bit cramped, sometimes with four to a bed,’ the RA stated, ‘I try not to get into the logistics of it, you know. Not really my place. Students tend to work that stuff out themselves.’
After unpacking and encountering a series of mushroom-rat hybrids native to the dorm’s internal pipes and crawl spaces, Largo and Lovett begin to make their way across to the dining hall for their first dinner. When asked the whereabouts of Mills, the pair got quiet. ‘He used the washroom on the first floor about an hour ago and never came back.’ stated Largo, ‘Could’ve sworn I heard him speaking in tongues in there.’ Tonight’s feast greets them before even opening the doors as a second-year dorm resident sprints out the doors covering his mouth with a special green tint to his face.
‘That’s the third time today,’ Largo comments. ‘I guess green is really in this year,’ retorts Lovett. They move through the empty hall, soaking in the still air and the sounds of a haunting poorly-played communal piano. They arrive at the cafeteria and receive their meal for the evening: Chicken sandwiches. ‘See? Just a normal grilled chicken sandwich,’ Lovett exclaims. ‘There’s no grill marks,’ Largo notices, ‘It’s a bit pink actually. And, I think it’s twitching.’ Lovett encourages his coworker to try the sandwich, saying, ‘Stop talking. Just eat it.’
Largo takes a large bite out of the sandwich and a small squeak can be heard. He swallows with pride as Lovett begins to boast, ranting and raving about the top notch food. Within a minute or so, Largo excuses himself to use the washroom. He returns with a green wash and a nosebleed, rambling about a bathroom sighting of Christ. Suddenly he stops before making a final statement saying, ‘I need to see him again.’ He exits to the bathroom once more where he remained for the rest of the stay.
Lovett seems relaxed and ready for bed as he retreats to their shared room alone, muttering, ‘See, this place is a bona fide paradise. You’ve got everything you need. Now goodnight to you all!’ The door shuts behind him.
The next morning at 7 a.m. sharp, we went back only to find Lovett’s room empty with the door wide open. His bags remained as did his formal wear and shoes. We asked his neighbours if they had seen his exit and were told, ‘We heard teeth chattering and scared whimpers until we fell asleep. Probably just homesick or something. Or, the creature got him.’
It’s been three weeks since their stay and there has been no word on the whereabouts of the administrators. No plans to renovate or improve the dorms have been made public. The only new edition has been a cork community board which has been said to boost morale and promote student life.