WUnderground WashU's Premier (only) Satirical Newspaper Est. 2004
On the surface, I am your average WashU student. I’m an Ivy reject, I get decent grades, and I eat an açai bowl at Collins Farms every other Wednesday. My mother is a work-from-home gynecologist, and my father runs a multi-tier combined intercontinental cryptocurrency pyramid scheme and hedge fund. I am also on the recommended United Healthcare student medical insurance plan, which is why I thought everything was perfectly normal when I received an email from Habif urging me to sign up to get my flu shot. That flu shot, which I did not end up getting, changed my life. This is that story.
As someone who attends an R1 school, I believe in science. I have received every vaccination in the books, even the ones from those guys who hide behind that cookie place on the Loop. I was NOT about to let this influenza shot be an exception. I eagerly signed up the moment the message breached my inbox. When the day of the injection came, I arrived at my appointment on the second floor of the DUC about fifteen minutes early. When I knocked on the door, a short blonde woman wearing a stained apron and pantaloons peered out and handed me a neon pink iPod Touch. She told me that I would have to answer a few questions before I could continue with my immunization. I expected a questionnaire about my medical history, but the first and only question was “Have YOU ever been Across the Aisle?” I did not know what that meant, so I selected the no button. I guess this was some sort of selection process because the moment my finger tapped the miniature screen I felt a cool pair of hands on my shoulders and was immediately ushered down a hallway into a dark room that was empty except for a towering man wearing an American flag hat standing behind a table with vials of some sort of clear liquid. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be meditating, repeating the same phrase over and over again. I stepped further into the room, confused about what this man had to do with my flu shot. His eyes opened and his voice began to grow louder with each repetition. He did not blink. Eventually, in a booming voice, he proclaimed, “If it is a flu shot that you seek, oxygen water you must drink!” This was unlike any shot I had ever had, so I asked, “What is oxygen water?” Immediately, his demeanor changed. He stood up straighter, flexed for a moment, and blinked a few times. Then, the man stated in a matter-of-fact inside voice, “Well, it’s good for your gut and it’s quite hydrating as well. It’s water with extra oxygen!” I was sold. He sounded like he knew his stuff, and I’m always down to try new things. I picked up a vial and took a swig. I felt the effects immediately. I looked down, and I could see an eight-pack forming on my stomach through my shirt. I blinked, and my vision immediately became clearer. All of the colors on his hat were so vivid I felt a swell of patriotism in my soul. I could suddenly hear people talking miles away and knew immediately that I WAS going to get that Boeing job. My engineering degree wasn’t a waste, after all! “Thank you, oxygen water!” I was compelled to yelp. I felt like I was breathing fresh air for the first time. The woman with the apron suddenly appeared again beside me.
“It’s time, darlin’!” she exclaimed. She took me into the next room with a twirl and a do-si-do. I was a bit confused because I thought I had just gotten the shot. What was that liquid? Anyway, a little boy wearing an EST sweatshirt was sitting on the floor in the middle of the room, a big smile on his face. A pail full of syringes was tipped over next to him. “Hiya there, are you ready to get your flu shot?” he asked me in a squeaky prepubescent voice. “That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?” I responded. “If you do, all of your newfound traits will disappear,” he told me. That got me. “Are you even in EST?” I asked him. “Are you?” he cocked his head, clicking a vaccine like a ballpoint pen. I stood there for a moment and looked at the floor, thinking to myself, “I could have an eight-pack AND the flu, or I could have neither.” With that, I looked up, thanked him, and walked out of the room. As I made my way back to my dorm, I could still hear the EST boy calling out to me that I had forgotten to take a sticker. Music to my ears. I had been Across the Aisle, and that was enough for me.
