Point: I Wanna Step on the Reynolds Club Seal
Everyone’s always saying not to step on the seal in the lobby of the Reynolds Club. “You won’t graduate in four years,” they say. “It’s bad luck,” they say. They’ll recite story after story: perfect kid, straight-A high school student, stepped on the seal once, dropped out within 48 hours, started doing PCP, moved to Alaska, dead in the Aleutian islands at 25.
I don’t care. I used to, but I’m not scared anymore — I just want to do it. Ever since I toured UChicago, I’ve been curious about what the bottom of my size-12 Nikes would look like stamped on the golden phoenix tile. I’ve had an insatiable curiosity: How would the texture feel against my feet? What would it feel like to cause such a selfless, artistic spectacle?
If I’m being totally honest, not graduating on time doesn’t sound like the worst fate ever — it’d just give me more time to collect free T-shirts. Plus, the seal’s here, and once I graduate and move to Alaska, I’ll never be able to step on it again.
Counterpoint: I Want the Reynolds Club Seal to Step on Me
Have you ever looked at the Reynolds Club seal? I mean, really looked. Take more than just a passing glance at it and notice its breathtaking beauty. Soon enough, you’ll be staring down the barrel of an inescapable conclusion: the Reynolds Club seal is hot.
The first time I realized the Reynolds Club seal was a 10 was O-Week. There was something about the velvet rope they used to guard it, some smoldering sense of mystery that drew me in. I knew, then and there, that I WOULD be stepped on.
It’s not like I haven’t tried to make it happen, either. I’ve dropped subtle hints — every time I walk through Reynolds, I make sure I’m looking my best. I step directly over the seal, taking long, sultry strides. Late nights when nobody’s there, I spend time standing next to the seal, hoping against hope that it will notice me, that maybe the seal is watching. One day, maybe.