Do you know why we’re here? This is an intervention.
At noon last Tuesday, an intervention was held for a student.
The intervention took place in the high-traffic sidewalk between Dutton and Young Hall. The set-up included three fold-out chairs, notebooks filled with emotional sentiments and a whiteboard detailing their course of action.
The student, Cole Rogers, was stopped by his friends as they were casually walking. “Cole, this is an intervention.”
Cole’s pupils were thrust out of their sockets in shock. He took out his AirPods. “Shit, no, not here.”
His friends, Sammy Bowers and Jack Johnson, nodded solemnly. “It’s time to go public.”
Students were starting to notice the AA-like meeting and were forced to dangerously walk on the road to pass them. One unknown individual told them to go f**k themselves, then continued on their route.
“Jack, get the chairs out,” Sammy ordered. He set up the folding chairs in a circle as Sammy arranged the whiteboard on a stand.
As Jack and Sammy discussed Cole’s transgressions, our source lost contact with the group when a large crowd of nine protesters walked in between them. The source got back in touch with the group as Jack and Sammy were sharing their feelings.
Jack was sobbing, holding up a piece of notebook paper with his thoughts. “Lean into that pain, Jack. Lean in,” Sammy said, guiding Jack through his emotional breakthrough (in regards to Cole).
“Oh, I’m leaning in, Sammy, I’m leaning into the waterfall of emotions that is cascading down my consciousness. It envelops me in its cold, refreshing embrace. I feel naked, like an infant crawling after my mother.”
This continued for several minutes as Jack unpacked the inner-workings of his consciousness. By the time it was Sammy’s turn to become an emotional baby, there was a flow-chart on the whiteboard detailing how Cole would seek retribution. The source was unable to decipher the chaotic details on the whiteboard.
Cole finally gave in and let out a yelp of wretched pain. “I have been intervened,” he whimpered. His tearful confession caused even more salty secretions to pour out of his friends’ eyes as they eventually all began crawling on the floor.
The intervention lasted for a few more hours as Sammy took on the role of a psychoanalyst and considered Cole’s childhood in regards to his current state. They concluded with a group hug and let out what our source says appeared to be an empowering chant in an unknown language.
Written by: Kelsey Stewart — kcstewart@ucdavis.edu
(This article is humor and/or satire, and its content is purely fictional. The story and the names of “sources” are fictionalized.)
