It’s 8:30 AM on Thursday morning and Braxton Childress is so hungover that he can feel his head splitting in two. As he scrambles around to find his laptop, and air pods (yeah, it’s that kid) he realizes that he has to rush to the bathroom, and he’s already late. After a dark experience, that does not bare repeating, young Braxton is finally ready to attend his Women in the Media seminar. He realizes that the only other person not yet on the call is his professor, Mr. DiVincenzo (yes, Women in the Media is unfortunately taught by an old white guy). To Braxton’s surprise his professor is in fact on the call, but mysteriously his camera is turned off. What could Mr. DiVincenzo be up to? Lying in bed, because he’s a shiftless, lazy goober? Or, hugging the porcelain throne, because he had a little too much joy juice at the Journalism department dinner at Southern Inn?
It’s a disturbing trend sweeping the nation, as more and more students are reaping the benefits of taking classes from home, and more teachers are staying up late at TGI Fridays doing Jell-O shots until the department head pukes up a lung. That’s right ladies and gentlemen it’s not just Mr. DiVincenzo—who prides himself on being the best beer pong player outside of the STEM professors—it’s all of them. Parents are beginning to take note, as all of them are receiving texts while their children are in class, supposedly hanging on every word their learned professor says. The one take away: hug your family tonight, because America has suffered a tragic loss, and her name, Higher Education.