By SAMUEL SHEA
The end of the spring 2024 semester on Beloit’s campus was marked by many tearful goodbyes, especially for a hooligan like myself who primarily hung around the senior class. Losing ninety percent of my crew left me doubtful that Beloit could have anything left to offer in my final year. I feared the worst, but, like many in my situation, I was comforted by the promise of a resurrected DK’s and the return of my beloved library.
Now, during the 2024 fall semester, DK’s violently disrespects the grave of the beautiful give-and-take systems that were the Pearsons vending machines. Do not let yourself be fooled by the flashy new flooring and sleek tables – you have been had. You are spending more flex, time, and energy to acquire something of equally low quality. You are now late to class waiting in line for what truly is a glorified, higher security Hamiltons with smoothies. We do not have to stand for this. Burnt coffee and soggy muffins cannot fill the vending-machine-shaped holes in our hearts.
Speaking of holes, by far the hottest new spot on campus was the giant pit that was dug on the corner of Emerson and College Street. While obviously possessing an intrinsic beauty, this spot also served as a checkpoint on a night out. Nothing like a giant hole in the ground when you’re hammered. Remember how you and your friends used to climb in and say “Look guys, I’m in the hole! I’m in the hole they dug on the corner of Emerson and College Street!” And everyone would say “wow!” and then proceed to take a hasty, blurry picture and then one more focused, not-so-blurry picture? Remember that? Everyone was so excited for what the hole might become! Are we going to get a swimming pool? Maybe they’re making, like, a little cave for the pickleball club! Or maybe the hole is where they’re going to store the thousands of books they just threw in the dumpster spring of ‘23 when they were purging the library! Remember when they purged the library? Yeesh. Anyway, none of these dreams would come to fruition because they filled it all in. It’s just gonna be a road again. Same dumb road. Thanks, construction – we could have had a pickleball cave.
Those of us old enough to remember ye old library fondly recall that it was a peaceful place to drink two to nine beers with the fellas under the guise of being productive. Yellow lighting and weathered wood gave it all a cozy and intimate feel, perfect for any buzz. Now, having poured millions of dollars into new renovations and denying students access for an entire school year, I could not wait to see what my favorite drinking spot had evolved into.
Surprise: It sucks. The study rooms are made entirely of glass and are the focal point of the room, so now everyone can see whatever it is you and your freaky friends are doing in there. Very difficult to tie one on. The lighting is aggressive and straining on the eyes. Most of the computers don’t even work and, when they do, you’re lucky if they can connect to the printers. The basement is still unfinished and the third floor was never worked on in the first place, creating a very disconnected aesthetic. Being in the new library feels like a dream you had about being in the old library – every detail is just slightly off because your mind can not conjure a perfect image of what once was. Also, there’s no water. Oh what, are you thirsty? Do you gotta pee? Are you gonna piss your little pants? Get lost, twerp. Walk to the Science Center. Commute to your bathroom.
Listen, seniors: we’re washed. Beloit is preparing for the years to come. This campus is no longer for us. They want us gone. We are reminded of this by the constant drilling outside of our classes in Morse-Ingersoll, the new construction sites that pop up every week, the unbelievably nice renovations granted to freshman dorms, and waking up early on Saturday mornings to the sound of an excavator filling in our favorite pit. This campus is being rebuilt for freshmen, sophomores, juniors, and future generations; not for us.
The class of 2025 is the last remaining COVID class. We are the last class that wore masks, the last class that endured contact tracing, and the last class that remembers the way administration handled the pandemic. We are being swept out the door along with its memory. Beloit is leaving COVID and everything that came with it behind – that means us too. And you know what? Maybe that’s okay. Let’s let the kids have fun.
“This area is being renovated for your future enjoyment!” Sorry about your shitty campus, seniors! Here, have a burnt coffee and a soggy muffin.
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