Image by Zachary Anderson
By Des Parrote
Mxxy name is Desiree Louise Parrote and I’m a highly attractive 21-year-old college student. I’m always busy running around to numerous activities, and I enjoy lonely nighttime walks along poorly lit paths.
So why isn’t anyone stalking me?
Lately, a bunch of my friends have been followed around by sketchy little troll-like men with greasy hair and trench coats. They follow my girlfriends around campus, lurk outside buildings and even follow them home to stand for hours in the bushes, desperately hoping for a glimpse of the bodily areas that don’t see the light of day.
Now that’s devotion.
There are lots of things I do that would make me an ideal stalking victim. I always walk alone, especially at night through creepily un-lit parking lots, and my path takes me by some very conveniently placed bushes. I suffer from stone-colditis, a condition in which I freeze at the slightest moment of alarm. I also live right in town, so any disturbing mail can be slipped into my mailbox — think of the postage my stalker would save!
I’m always leaving my bags unattended and forgetting things, which can by picked up to complete an elaborate, closet-based shrine dedicated to me. And my respiratory problems mean I’m always blowing my nose, and stalkers love getting some used tissues with their victim’s DNA on it, don’t they? Also, I never, and I mean never, close my blinds in my room, which is on the first floor. Whether I’m changing or sleeping or picking my nose, those suckers are wide open. It would be the easiest thing to take some telephoto pictures of me from across the street. And yet, not a single person has been following me around. It’s enough to boggle the mind!
I mean, I don’t mean this in any negative way, I care deeply about all my friends, but the people I know who are getting stalked do not deserve it. Mandy’s nose is way too small for her face. Karen has to pluck every day or else she’ll get a pretty nasty unibrow and Charlotte could be left stranded in the desert for three days with no food and she’d survive off her own reserves, if you know what I mean. And I’m pretty sure Jane is a dude. Oh, they’re wonderful ladies and beautiful on the inside and blah, blah, blah, but there’s a reason I was Dorothy when we did The Wizard of Oz for Halloween.
Also, none of them have lost their apartment key.
Creepy weirdos who don’t shower are as much a part of any college campus as professors in tweed jackets and out of control keggers. There seems to be no end of obsessive virgin freshmen, socially awkward chemistry majors or guys at least three years too old to be in school but never seemed to leave. This is stalker central, and I’m just waiting for one of them to take this bait.
It has gotten to the point that I’d even be open to a girl stalker—after all, everyone is a little bi-curious in college. Hey, maybe some open experimentation would also attract skeevy guys to following me around, hoping to catch an erstwhile kiss or some second base action. I am completely willing to go there.
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Anne Northgraves is a sophomore cinema production major who misses the old rape trail. E-mail her at [email protected].