By: Addie Lawrence and Elaine Best, Editors
A: With all the stress of senior year, you’d think the only thing that’d be dying would be our GPAs. Unfortunately, that’s not the case. Something else has died (besides our hopes and dreams). This isn’t a confession; it’s merely a recollection. It all started at a Hub City Taphouse murder mystery party on a cold night in October.
E: The atmosphere was weird. Local Spartanburgians were decked in costumes, the Chinese Dragon – manned by eight different people – putting all of us who threw our costumes together at the last minute to shame. I cleverly went as a fork in the road by taping uneven strips of paper to a black shirt and wearing a fork around my neck. Some people seemed to not notice I was wearing a costume, which is slightly worrisome. Do people think I naturally wear cutlery around my neck? Is my fashion sense so bland that looking like a road was actually formal for Elaine?
A: I didn’t wear a costume because that’s what the the police would’ve expected.
E: As we proudly shook our bangled wrists clinking our glasses together, a proud show of our legal drinking age, we dove into the mystery. The owner of the Taphouse was POISONED, and we all had to figure out who had done it. Oh, and did we mention the drinking game that was handed out to us for the evening? Cheers to that.
A: As we waited at our table, a detective character who is most definitely not a professor at Wofford accused us of making too much eye contact with him as he stared us down across the room. We received a sticky note that simply read: probably guilty. Of course, there’s no way he could have suspected us for our true crime – murdering hundreds if not thousands of Oxford commas, trees, and rumors on campus, our hands stained deeper than any shade of blood red: black ink.
E: It’s hard to be the criminals hiding on the bench behind newspapers when newspapers are, in fact, the crime you have committed. I was prepared to oust Addie at any given point. She hadn’t dressed up for the occasion, after all. Weirdly enough, she looked like that blond woman from ABBA.
A: It was purely coincidental, but I had at least two people tell me that my ABBA costume was on point.
E: This Dancing Queen and I, however, were not going down in flames together. Since it was Halloween, though, who knows if we wouldn’t have come back from the dead (cue spooky music).
A: What people assume to be the dead are really living corpses – zombies, animated and alive and devouring your thoughts. Yes, that’s right. The living dead are newspapers.
E: Newspapers are also like turkeys. I like them both. They have stuff inside of them. Your one racist relative takes the leg and spews it on your face. Flashbacks to your childhood rear up and you cry in a sad ball, wishing you didn’t have to keep writing a paper and a philosophy outline. I’m sorry, what were we talking about again?
A: I think the moral of this story is that passion can look a lot like murder. Now that that I’ve read that sentence in print, it sounds highly concerning. Regardless, be sure to celebrate November with news – Happy Newsember!
Caption: Elaine Best and Addie Lawrence attempt to sway the jury with their bambi eyes only to be declared “Probably Guilty” to the murder at the Hub City Taphouse.
