The Smell of Irony

Ankle-deep, we search for meaning

Metaphor became reality last week, as a major backup in the pipes underneath Eliot House yielded flooding localized to the D, E, and F entryways, but, unfortunately, not to their bathrooms. Congestion from deep in the bowels of Eliot caused water, that made the Charles River look potable, to spring from the shower drains and fill the rooms of a few unlucky souls. The inhabitants fled to not-so-nearby Dunster House as their infected common rooms began to be decontaminated.

An event such as this can only be interpreted as the will of a higher power for us to say something cute:

Perhaps this is a clear reason why being Quadded isn’t so bad.

Maybe this is the time to explain why fluid dynamics should be included in the Core.

Possibly this is the key piece of evidence for understanding why the grass seems so much greener in Eliot.

Perchance this can serve as the metaphoric link to arguing that, despite all the hours it spends debating, the Undergraduate Council doesn’t deal with crap.

Or yet this could imply that the newly-installed green toilets have consequences of a darker color. (Sure, facilities maintenace says that it was only a clogged drain that caused the backup of green muck. We wonder if their investigation included “karma” as a possible factor.)

But we have resisted the temptation to trivialize the matter through any of these means because we firmly believe that this is a time of reflection on irony of the highest caliber presented by the twisted hand of fate. For perhaps this is the only time you will hear of Eliot residents seeking to be placed in Dunster in order to escape getting the bum-end of the deal.