Editor’s note: The contents of this column are intended for satirical and entertainment purposes and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the IDS or its staffers. The scenarios mentioned are fictional.
Five years ago, Indiana University President Pamela Whitten had a dream:
IU would become the foremost engineering school in the nation.
Naturally, realizing this dream would require IU to send a mission to the moon. After approving Starbucks 2045 — a forward-looking redevelopment initiative to turn many campus landmarks, including Assembly Hall, into coffee stores — the money was finally in hand for a work of such scale, just in time to trail Artemis II into the starry beyond.
IU’s mission, Cig I, would not only pass by the moon. It would land on its surface. Brave soul and campus squirrel Mike Woodchip would then tread the lunar landscape.
Woodchip, a longtime resident of the big Bur Oak overlooking the Indiana Memorial Union, signed onto the mission earlier this year after administrators offered him a joining bonus of 50 acorns. Following several weeks of training, equal to two years in squirrel time, Woodchip blasted off aboard Cig I on April 5 from the roof of a heavily guarded Bryan Hall.
Upon takeoff, Woodchip abetted the university in several violations of federal and state aviation, fire, wildlife and environmental codes and, notably, the scorching of Indiana Avenue. Among them:
- Possessing a Class I wild animal in the state of Indiana without a permit;
- Recklessly and knowingly defacing private property without consent;
- Performing an unlicensed launch of aerial craft into orbit in a breach of several sections of Title 14 of the Code of Federal Regulations; and
- Igniting several tons of liquid oxygen and hydrogen using office-grade extension cords, contemning industry norms set forth in the National Fire Protection Association’s Hazardous Materials Code.
At any rate, Woodchip is not likely to be earthside while statutes of limitations still stand on any of these offenses. IU, while hunting for engineers to work on the mission, discovered they were all enrolled at Purdue and settled instead for several freshmen pre-accounting majors Whitten found skipping Kelley Compass.
These business students, unfortunately for Woodchip, failed to account for the gas trail Artemis II left behind. This particulate debris proved enough to tip Cig I off its course. Then, of course, there was the fact the rookie rocket scientists unwittingly routed Cig I to collide with Artemis’s detached booster, which shoved it off path.
As Woodchip hurtled through space at breakneck speed, ground control informed the novice astronaut he was now set to strike the asteroid belt,
Luckily, he escaped a dusty end by the skin of his buck teeth.
Somewhere beyond Mars, Woodchip flew straight into a newly found wormhole.
Ground control briefly lost touch with Woodchip. When his squeaky voice returned online, he told ground control that he had landed on an alternate Earth.
The Indiana Daily Stupid secured the following quote from ground control’s exclusive transcript:
“Qua qua qua qua,” or whatever sound squirrels make.
Translated:
“This world in many ways resembles our own. I have landed in a stadium much like Memorial Stadium, save that there is no championship trophy. Indeed, the whole campus seems rather downcast. I have heard talk of Purdue’s second perfect football season in a row. Yet when I spoke President Whitten’s name, the students’ faces shone at once.
“I learned they erected an encampment on not-Dunn Meadow in support of her several years ago. When police snipers assumed a rooftop position during the campus disturbance, students said, ‘My not-Whitten would never!’ and added, after a pause, that the threat must have been installed by ‘someone above her pay grade.’
“When the university’s print newspaper was cut last year, students repeated, ‘My not-Whitten would never!’ though they seemed uncertain whether to blame the lieutenant governor, the trustees or the president of the not-United States himself.
“On another occasion, not-IU leadership announced new restrictions on campus gatherings. As students gathered around Bryan House to leave gifts in not-Whitten’s yard, administrators read the new order aloud to them. The students concluded the policy could not possibly reflect not-Whitten’s personal intent, though they did not reach an agreement as to what part of the chain of command, if any, implemented these restrictions.
“‘My not-Whitten would never!’ one student said. ‘Dark forces must be causing these wrongs.’
“A few peers nodded at this, while others gazed into the sky for a long time, as if the signature of the illiberal agent would become visible.”
That’s when a second rocket streaked through the sky. Woodchip was disconnected again. It turns out the government wanted in on this wormhole world, too.
Eric Cannon (he/him) is a sophomore studying philosophy and political science and currently serves as a member of IU Student Government.
