For all the regular kids in the class of 2019, there’s still one more semester to go before we stroll down that red carpet this spring to get our scrolls. But for some truly remarkable members of our class, the carpet comes to them. Turns out, there’s a bunch of frickin’ geniuses that are graduating a whole semester early! This reporter set out to learn about these brainiacs before they all move to the Silicon Valley and Europe.
The early grads aren’t easy to find — they’re an exclusive and secretive community that distrusts outsiders, otherwise known as “four-yearers.” They guard their secrets well, and you could never trick them because they’re so friggin smart. But through an anonymous tip, this reporter found her way to every early-grad’s favorite watering hole: The Golden Ratio Lounge. The password? “Consider the Lobster.”
The interior of the lounge was full of mahogany, old books and futuristic square chairs that are also fully functioning rubix cubes. I looked around and my stomach dropped: I was the only one not wearing a court masque. Intelligent eyes looked suspiciously at my bare face from behind elaborate masks of sequins, blue feathers and silk.
After rushing to the bathroom and constructing a simple mask of toilet paper, I was ready to mingle. As I made my way to the bar, several genius early-grads complimented me on my ‘subversive’ maque. Sub-a-who-a-what-a? I cursed myself for leaving my pocket dictionary at home.
I sidled up next to a group of prodigies drinking martinis.
“The Fibonacci sequence is old hat,” a tall genius in a mask like a crow’s face said.
Ten minutes of talking with them made my head spin. Topics included racial politics in America, fractions and answering the question: what’s the oldest mural? Um, English, please.
I was in a little over my head at The Golden Ratio Lounge, but I did learn a few key things about class of 2019 early-grads: they’re stylishly heavy drinkers (but not alcoholics, just really cool), their calculators are friggin huge and they aren’t afraid to use the word “sic” in spoken conversation.
I decided that next I would meet with early grads one-on-one. I put out an ad in The Flail and left my contact information on the walls of some key bathroom stalls. The first to respond was a bespectacled young man name Nickolby Brasswaxen. When we met, I asked him how he was.
“I don’t think I could possibly explain it to any other person. Is the inspiration you feel the inspiration I feel? I prefer not to answer,” Brasswaxen said. I felt like such a friggin idiot. When I asked him if he was proud to be graduating a semester early, Brasswaxen just laughed.
“Some piece of paper that says ‘good job, monkey, dance monkey dance’? No thank you. I don’t care about that. College is a waste of money,” Brasswaxen said. “Excuse me, I have to leave to meet with some of my colleagues now.”
The next visionary I met with was Matilda Steele. At her request, I met with her in a garden of dead plants. Afraid of sounding stupid, I said nothing. Neither did Steele. After five minutes of strolling through the brown and withered stalks, Steele spoke.
“You’re not like other people,” Steele said. This concluded our interview.
I then spoke with Assistant Dean of Students Gregory Gruff.
“I’m sad to see these brilliant minds go so soon, but there are silver linings to their leaving,” Gruff said. “A lot of locally rented laboratory spaces are going to open up. This is good because there are some first-year prodigies looking for a place to do experiments in the dead of night. It’s also going to save the wellness center a lot of money when these geniuses leave. Their brains are all too big for their heads, and we spend a fortune keeping them alive. Also, we’re going to get all the biggest books back at the library, which helps with the credibility of this university.”
To any readers interested in celebrating the early graduation of these whiz kids, the time and location of their ceremony is the answer to a riddle that’s never been solved.
