The Weekly Ringer

The University of Mary Washington Student Newspaper

Tiers to You, Kid!

2 min read


Some seniors might recall our first big snowstorm four years ago, when a collaborative effort of many freshman resulted in a 3-D art sculpture on Jefferson Square.  Many lent a helping hand that snow day—on the creation of a snow penis.
While the “performance art” piece stood erect for only a few days, it was captured on as a memory of our first freshman year snowfall.
But the white stuff isn’t always an excuse for such college antics.
As we learned yesterday morning, this institution isn’t quick to cancel classes.
While nearby Virginia school closings headline the FOX morning news after a mere inch of snow, this is not indicative of UMW closing, too.
On the Sunday night of a minor blizzard freshman year, my friends and I went off campus to visit my cousin Dane and his rugby roommates.
Senior “Big Dumb” lived up to his nickname with such ideas as sledding down their nearly vertical hill into an open doorway.
His five years of wintry mix experiences at MWC led him to believe he could convince six freshman girls that school would be cancelled the next morning.
And the “Anchorman” weatherman succeeded.
One turned into several rounds of Survivor-style flip cup in our layers and scarves, and we weren’t dropped off in the Chandler lot until the wee hours of Monday morning.
Sure enough, 9 a.m. rolled around and the only delay in sight was me rolling out of bed.   I groggily slipped on my roommate Liz’s J. Crew clogs, misreading their size 9 ½  as 7 ½.
As I hurried outside, bundled up students bustling past the fountain to class got an eyeful as I bit it—all the way down Virginia Hall’s steps.
Hobbling to class at Monroe on a probable sprain, I plopped down next to—no other than—the same “Big Dumb” who cried snow wolf to me the night before.
All I learned during those next excruciating 50 minutes of Western Civ was that note-taking on two hours of sleep is impossible to later decipher.
Staring at the chicken scratch I jotted about Charlemagne that “snow day” as I studied for the midterm weeks later, I regretted our midnight escapade.
Since then, I vowed I would never again a) go out and celebrate a premature snow day or b) believe anyone but a personal phone call from the President himself that school would be off the next day.
Stepping outside the morning after a snowfall to view a blanket of white velvet on our campus is a euphoric experience—wearing the proper shoes, of course.
But experiencing three winters at this school tells me the powdery stuff is purely aesthetic and conducive for building body parts—neither of which will cancel classes.
An element responsible for legitimate “snow days” has been freezing rain (it dangerously adheres to the brick walk).
That’s why this Valentine’s Day, all I want is ice, ice, baby.