Editor’s Note: This article is purely satirical and fictitious. All attributions in this article are not genuine, and this story should be read in the context of pure entertainment only.
This past Saturday, as sprinklers flooded Crothers Hall, Noah de la Cruz ’30 managed to escape the worst of the flooding thanks to divine intervention.
Appearing to de la Cruz in a dream with a radiant flash of light, the Lord God declared that the inhabitants of Crothers Hall had been nursing thoughts of joining private equity and consulting firms after graduating, which was corrupt in God’s sight. De la Cruz, thanks to his virtuous rejection of the Stanford-to-consulting pipeline, would be spared.
“Make yourself an Ark of bed frame wood; make it three cubits long, five cubits wide, and put the door in its side,” boomed the Creator of the Universe, as de la Cruz bolted awake in a cold sweat. “Bring with you into the Ark two of every cheat sheet, two of every homework assignment, two of every brand of mobile phone, and seven clean sets of underwear.”
“What’s a cubit in football fields?” de la Cruz muttered in a daze, tossing aside his blankets as the dream faded. His roommate, Jason Caldwell ’30, helpfully informed him that a cubit was roughly half of a mini fridge, and then inquired as to why his mystery project would be wider than its length.
Disguising his activity by informing his roommate that he was simply lofting his bed, de la Cruz assembled a boat to the exact specifications of the God of the Israelites, taking a hacksaw to his bed frame and tearing apart his desk and dresser.
As de la Cruz made a burnt offering of his Math 61 homework to the Almighty God, unleashing a storm of dust particles that floated their way up to the Lord, the fire alarm system coincidentally went off throughout the halls. “The day of reckoning is upon us!” de la Cruz screamed, rousing a confused Caldwell from his sleep.
Though the original Noah was accompanied by his wife and children, de la Cruz, a math major, had neither, and boarded the Ark alone just prior to the flooding. Caldwell, due to not having taken out the trash the week prior, was not invited.
As the raging waters in the Hall blotted out all homework assignments, notes and electronic devices from the face of the Earth, only de la Cruz’s items survived unharmed in the Ark. Caldwell, meanwhile, burst into tears upon learning that Stanford would not compensate him for lost or damaged items. However, RD&E generously offered a free pack of rice to lay his wet electronics in. This was a small consolation to Caldwell, whose floppy discs had become floppier due to the water.
The rain was ordained to fall for forty days and forty nights. However, as the Bible was originally written on a semester system, the Stanford flood was shortened to around twenty minutes to fit the quarter schedule. True to myths that unicorns went extinct following their failure to get on the Ark, multiple Y Combinator hopefuls found their futures dashed as the hard drives containing their billion-dollar ideas were banished to the big Crungeon in the sky.
Following the flood, the Lord God was pleased and promised de la Cruz that He would never again flood the dorms during midterms, turning the colors of de la Cruz’s Canvas courses rainbow as a sign of his covenant.
At press time, God accidentally leaned on the “RAIN” button in His heavenly office, causing this morning’s downpour.
Writer’s Note: This article was made possible due to a prophetic vision by Nic Chesterman ’30, which was graciously relayed to the writer.