To the nice people I’ll never see again after I stop going to college

It’s been great. I mean it. We have shared good times.

Lunchlady: Thanks for letting me have a big coffee even though the “egg on a bun” combo dictates a small.

Librarian: Enjoy the drum circles. I like them too.

Carpet Back: My girlfriend hates it when I call you that. I won’t anymore.

Bitchy Nick: Keep on truckn’. Whatever that means.

Mr. Johnston: Hopefully poisonous snakes stay away from you while you’re building schools for poor children.

Low-cut shirt Stephanie: The second floor directly overlooks your work studio downstairs. It amplifies the already thrilling perspective of your shirts. Maybe you should keep that in mind.

To everybody I didn’t include, simply insert your favourite thank you from the preceding thank you’s and call it even.

Sincerely,

Fergis T. McGillicuddy

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3 comments on “To the nice people I’ll never see again after I stop going to college

  1. kfx says:

    Egg on a bun? Do you live in Lister? If the answer is ‘yes’, your fondness for the bottle makes a lot more sense now.

  2. fergis says:

    I fortunately haven’t needed to live in Lister Hall or Norwalk Central as it is currently known as.

    I went to a community college that employs the same food and beverage provider…

    Ironically enough (or not), the remand centre cancelled a contract with the same provider, citing that it wasn’t meeting quality standards. Basically it means that food unfit for prisoners is good for students…

    Fergis

  3. kfx says:

    Another curious intersection of Lister Hall and the Remand Centre is that they were both built to the same blueprint, except Lister Hall has doors that unlock from the inside.

    I lived in Lister for a year, because on paper it looks cheaper than finding your own place. What the pamphlets from the university never mention is the heavy toll exacted from your soul.

    I spent a lot of time in nameless bars along the far reaches of Whyte Avenue (past all the ‘hip spots’) getting incoherently drunk with vile old men with an inexhaustable supply of stories about jail time and forgotten dreams.

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