Campus crows caw out for recognition, food scraps
Given Puget Sound’s lack of diversity, it may not be surprising that crows, which account for 87 percent of the campus population, receive little attention within our community compared to minority groups such as white people and vegetarians.
According to the crows, they’ve been abandoned by the system for generations. But as new student-conducted studies “reveal” that crows have more intelligence than the human population was aware of, shocked and offended crows are finally speaking out about their struggles to fit in on campus and the pain caused by constant rejection.
“Every day, we walk the same sidewalks with students, eat the same food—though it is hardly of the same quality—endure the same rain and receive the same education,” Francis, a crow who has lived on campus for three years, said. “And yet no one ever acknowledges our existence. Other students pass us by without a glance 99 percent of the time, and the other one percent simply throw unwanted food at us. Sometimes it’s with good intent, but even the most delicious Cellar scraps are no substitute for love or friendship.”
Many mothers of on-campus crows complain that college is turning their children into heathens, as adolescent crows have taken to gorging on spilt booze on the sidewalk and cawing profanities at student passerby from the treetops. Stacy Hughs, a crow counselor at CAWS, hypothesizes that “these crows are rebelling against the community because they feel oppressed and unaccepted by their student peers.”
One young crow, George, expressed his agreement with Hughs.
“One may ask, can crows cry?” lamented George in an interview, as his anguished gazed pierced my basket of french fries. “The answer is no. But we can use tools, what more do you bastards want?”
On Valentine’s Day, the crows’ genus-envy of Homos peaked. “They have no problem sharing their affection for each other, and all these students were strutting around campus with flowers and chocolates and whatnot, but no one’s ever even asked me out to coffee,” Margaret, a theatre-roosting crow who says she has taken to writing angsty poems about Edgar Allen Poe to channel her frustrations, said.
For many crows, Valentine’s Day was the final straw. Several banded together this week to petition ASUPS for greater representation in awareness events and activities, as they feel increasingly powerless and isolated despite their majority status on campus. Several hundred members of the crow community signed the petition—however, when it was taken to ASUPS for review, they were sourly disappointed.
“We don’t accept signatures written in morse code,” Vivi Wollock, president of ASUPS, said.
The crows were outraged. “I pay $30,000 tuition and they can’t even read my name,” Margaret said. “Granted I don’t know how to spell it, but how am I supposed to get a good education if I’m made to sit outside on the window while the professors lecture to the humans?”
The administration has made no formal signs of reaching a compromise with the crows, although someone did place a half eaten muffin and a piece of toast on the picnic tables for them.