CARMAN—Once upon this NSOP, a (hopeful) journalism major came to New York City on a greyhound bus. Bright eyed and bushily ponytailed, Carrie, CC 2022, killed it at the Welcome Week parties and hooked up with one of the city’s typically eligible bachelors. Jake was an Upper East Sider with a declared major in history and an “in” at Goldman in case he couldn’t get a job after graduation. They met one evening in typical New York fashion, at the Project X eighteen plus dance party, which Jake was attending for the third year in a row. It was love at first sight.
However, as Carrie’s roommate, Charlotte, describes it, Carrie fell in love at first grind every night of NSOP, and every weekend and occasional Thursday night since. “I mean, I’m very socially progressive and pro-sex and everything,” Charlotte explains, “but come on, I need to get into my room sometimes to change my shirt or take my gummy vitamins. This is getting ridiculous.” After several unsuccessful attempts to rectify her constant sexile with her roommate, including having an honest discussion and later slipping Carrie libido suppressants, Charlotte decided to put her time in sexile to good use and explore New York.
“Well, first I wanted to see what all this ‘Barnard’ stuff is about,” Charlotte explains about her recent excursion. “They live right across the street, but what are they? Columbia students? Women’s college students? Condensed balls of hyper-feminist black matter?” Her trip quickly went south, however, when a group of Barnard students in Brandy Melville pants tried to indoctrinate her by chopping off her hair. By the time she earned her freedom, Charlotte was too exhausted to continue with her sexploration of the big apple, so she returned to campus and slept in the Butler stacks.
Later in the weekend, Charlotte made the mistake of leaving her Carman double without a snack to sustain her while she watched Netflix at the library so Carrie could get it on. On her way to explore the “Duane Reade” superstore that everyone on her floor kept talking about, she was waylaid at Mondel Chocolates by their arresting window display. “They managed to make a storefront on Broadway look like it exists after New York has been abandoned to slide into the ocean.” She says that a quick trip inside confirmed her hypothesis, but that now she sometimes gets the munchies only Mondel’s can satiate.
Charlotte has agreed to keep the Federalist updated on if Carrie, too, can be satiated by the delicious taste of a postapocalyptic chocolate. Until then, she plans to use her sexile to visit the cool college bar she heard about, 1020, and maybe even venture lower than 100th street if the next sexile lasts longer than 6 hours.
