It was never supposed to…EW THERE’S SOMETHING CRAWLING ON THIS BENCH!! Ok, ok, it’s gone. It was never supposed to be like this. One minute I’m on top of the world. I was the most prestigious officer in CSULB ASI government: Vice-Chair of Media Board. And now I’m here, in this holding cell in some godforsaken…OMG IT’S BACK! THE CRAWLING THING IS BACK! SIR! YES SIR! CAN YOU TAKE CARE OF THIS THING? THANK YOU SO MU…WELL DON’T KILL IT! I DON’T KNOW! KICK IT OUTSIDE OR…Well now it’s dead! Geez, you just killed one of God’s creatures! What are you in here for anyway? Manslaughter. Right. Well, thank you much. I’ll just be over he…what’s that? No, no I’m ok.
Where was I? Oh right. Here I am in this holding cell in Downtown Long Beach. See, it all started when fundraising for Media Board wasn’t going so well. FLASHBACK!
TWO DAYS AGO….
“Matt we need to talk about your progress in raising money for ASI Media,” said some person in ASI Government. “You have none,” they said, “in fact, you’re in a considerable amount of debt.” JUMPFORWARD!
So that’s when I concocted a plan to get ASI Media some real money by going to Target and stealing copious amounts of pumpkin spice baby formula and then jacking up the price by 5000 percent ala Martin Shkreli. Unfortunately I was caught after I chickened out and walked out of the store with a pack of Starburst Jellybeans in my jacket. (The idea was I’d pay for those, that way I didn’t look suspicious walking around the New Mom’s section all day without paying for anything.) But by the time I chickened out, I had forgotten about the jellybeans and…
“JOHNSON!” A harsh, cis male voice called out. “You’re free to go. Your bail’s been paid.” “Really?” I said. “By who?” “I don’t know,” said the now gender fluid officer, “someone with the initials J.C.”
J.C. … Could this be? Was this whole scheme just a metaphor for humanity’s fallen nature? Did J.C. stand for Jesus Christ and his redemptive love for all lost souls? Is this whole story just one big analogy to Jesus Christ paying the debt of mankind? I walked down the corridor where I would be confronted with my savior, J.C.
As I walked into the foyer, there stood none other than a blond haired, bespectacled, middle-aged -but not old- woman, with a professorial demeanor that suggested “Yeah, I’m disappointed with you, but I’m totally going to treat you to a few beers at the Nug.” (Side note: do people still call the Nugget “the Nug?”)
“Hello Matthew,” said the woman. “Hello President Conoley,” I guiltily replied. “So I hear you’ve had quite a day,” she said, listing my plights, “attempting to steal a product in order resell it at an incredibly marked up price, all to fund ASI Media; is that right?” “Yes ma’am.” “Matthew,” she said with a gentle coax, “do you know what you did was wrong?” “Yes ma’am.” “You know there are alternate ways to achieve your goals. Did you even ask for any help from people who care about you?” “No ma’am.” “Are you going to try to do your best, ethically, even when it seems too hard?” “Yes ma’am.” “Well, I think you learned your lesson. Why don’t we grab a beer at the Nug? How does that sound?”
Just then a conviction came upon me like never before. “Actually ma’am,” I said, invigorated with passion found anew, “I think I’m going to pass.” “Really?” she said, “how come?” I’m going to put together a fundraiser like no one has ever seen! Here’s what we’re going to do: we’ll put out a sign that tells people they can get their automobiles cleaned for a much bigger price and far less quality than at a regular car-wash! I call it: ‘Automobile Cleanse Fundraiser for ASI Student Media Scholarships!’” “Go get ‘em, tiger.” “Thanks President Conoley!” “Well,” said Jane Close Conoley, as I began running fourteen blocks to the USU, “another life changed, thanks to President Jane Close Conoley.” Then, with majestic golden wings spread wide, she let out a triumphant screech, and soared into the heavens toward Brotman Hall.