April 1, 2022
My Dearest Construction,
You beckon my attention with your imposing, obstreperous clangs. As I try to calculate the acceleration of a car during my physics test at 8:23 A.M., I hear your incessant drilling, your thunderous hammering, and your omnipresent shrieks. Like a whale with echolocation, I sense your vibrations and abandon my work as I succumb to your captivating Siren song.
While I heed your auditory admonitions to physically stay away from the chaos, I can’t help but wonder: why are you here?
People say that it is the curse of present generations to invest in the future but not reap the benefits. More so than the dollars the school is paying for you, my hearing loss is the most pivotal and gracious donation, without which the next generation of Saint Francis students could not frolic in their beloved Innovation Center. May they never forget the sacrifices of their predecessors.
I am desolate over the loss of the Little Theater, where I ventured on an average of two times a year for a Shakespeare’s Dropouts lunchtime show or an AP class information session. However, quite literally nothing in my life has made me quite as inconsolable as the destruction of the cramped, humid 300 building restroom—my absolute last resort for a bathroom break on campus. Knowing that I no longer have that option is a burden I must bear everyday; nevertheless, I will persist.
I hope that the temporary loss of the cafeteria and snack station was worth the state-of-the-art facilities and priceless opportunities for generations to come. When next year’s Saint Francis students venture into a world of virtual reality, the voracious growls from the stomachs of the Class of 2022 shall haunt their brand new science labs. The buzz of our hearing aids shall leave behind a ubiquitous, inescapable, ambient noise in the background of the sleek, modernized architecture. Consider it a parting gift.
The sincerest and tenderest of wishes,
A disgruntled senior (’22)
