By James Applegate

Recently, Grinnell’s Cheery Checkers were astonished to discover in D-Hall a newborn child—swaddled in branded napkins, slick with afterbirth, and fast in the throes of a tranquil nap. 

Just days later, at last Thursday’s Scholar’s Convocation, titled “The New Strategic Plan: Gromelas”, Anne Harris announced sweeping changes to the Strategic Plan. The school has decided to sacrifice this “D-Hall baby” to save Grinnell from the turbulence of the next four years (and also for all eternity).  The move comes amid of storm of problems, including fears about the deportation of international students, potential loss of student financial aid, a threatened debilitating endowment tax, national attacks on campus free speech, the Grinnsmell, and the gray salami in the charcuterie bento boxes. 

The administration christened the infant “The Child of Gromelas” and locked it in what was formerly Lyle’s Pub in the basement of the JRC, where it will spend the rest of its torturous perpetual childhood. President Harris explained in an all-campus email that this was the only way:

“I write to gather Grinnell in community through words to affirm our many spontaneous and planned moments of dialogue, wherein we have all been trying to find a way forward. I write to affirm what we have all been feeling in these recent months. I’ve seen with my own eyes abject terror sweep across this beloved community. In these trying times, as it seems that everything is crumbling around us, I find myself returning again and again to The Tower of Babel by Pieter Bruegel the Elder. I find myself looking closer at those workers, building up in the midst of that great ruin, and find myself thinking, ‘Wouldn’t it be so much easier if it was just built already?’

As we shoulder this incredible burden, I invite us all to take time in community space in JRC 101 in the coming weeks to process the horrifying ethical and moral implications of our new policy, as well as to celebrate the College’s coming prosperity and peace. Support will be available in the form of mental health resources, snacks, scrapbooking materials, and community affirmation.”

To sufficiently torture the Child, Grinnell feeds it excess waste from D-Hall. Cheery Checker of 98 years, Bertha Smiles, was pleased to announce that, upon feeding the Child 57 excess sheets of chocolate lasagna and 17 mac and cheese pizzas last week, the landscaping around campus began to show a marked improvement, and students began seeing D-Hall workers as actual humans instead of food-making AI machines. In fact, numbers across the board have begun to improve: the endowment has grown rapidly, tuition has dropped by 5%, and fresh berries and melons have begun to appear in the salad bar. After a recent innovation to also feed students’ unused, discarded pronouns to the Child, bias incident report filings dropped to almost zero, and students have reported lofty spirits.

The administration has made clear that students may walk away from Grinnell if the horror is too much to bear, or stay if they wish to enjoy the fruits of an everlasting perfect society. But Aster Amethyst ‘27 scoffs. “What kind of choice is that?” says Amethyst. “Walk away, right into the hellish landscape of higher education in Trump’s America? No thanks.”

But what about those who flee? Iread Thisin Mittelschule ’28 began walking away immediately after hearing the news. The B&S tracked him down in Newton ten hours later: 

“I didn’t realize how far away other places are on foot,” says Mittelschule. He shows us his shoes, which have been worn ragged by his big toes. “I was going to take one of the Pedal Grinnell bikes, but after the student body seized the means of biking as part of the new utopian reality and fed Pedal Grinnell to the Child, everyone was using them already. So I walked.” 

Mittelschule also gives a damning account of the outside world. “Everyone’s either in total depression and anxiety, or absolutely manic. I haven’t seen anyone who’s just living their life, or even going to work.” 

Why on earth did he leave? Would he come back? Mittelschule looks at us in inexplicable horror and disgust—we get the message, and we carpool back to Gromelas.