Written by Jessica Ardrey
Beverly: “Chelsea, come on in! I’m glad you could make it to dinner.”Chelsea: “Hey, thanks for inviting me. Wow, this room looks different. Did you change something?”Beverly: “As a matter of fact, we just had the carpets cleaned. Made a big difference. So how are your parents?”Chels: “Oh, they’re just fine. They actually just got back from…”Bev: “Um, I’m sorry, dear, but, what is that on your shoes?”Chels: “Oh, the hot pink residue all over my sneaks? It’s nothing. Abby just really wanted me to vote for her. So, yeah, my parents just…”Bev: “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”Chels: “Huh? But what about dinner? I thought…”Bev: “No soup for you.”Chalk. Calcium sulfate. Ahh, the memories.I think of teachers who once used it instead of dry erase markers and squeaky-clean whiteboards, its dust my mortal enemy.I think of gymnasts, like little Kerri Strug powdering her hands before vaulting her way onto the gold medal podium and into the hearts of America, and on one leg, no less.Never did I ever think of chalk as a tool of propaganda.Not once.On this campus, however, sidewalk chalk seems to be a trend of massive proportions. We’ve been here three weeks, people. I wasn’t quite ready to have the ground beneath my feet tell me what to do just yet.I remember the first time I saw it. I thought it was so clever. It was creative, effective and would save you a little cash money on printing fliers.Then, as most clever ideas do, it caught on. It caught on like a raging pastel fire, spreading to every brick on this campus. Every dad-blasted brick.I’ve seen ads for the poetry club and promos for CAB productions. I’ve seen Pi Day artwork and political pleas. Every year I’m able to track the Ju Go Ju pledges across campus by the flowers they draw every so many steps.I must say, however, the best sidewalk message awaited me outside my dorm sophomore year. I was running behind, naturally. I shoved through the doors, and, in my rush, almost ignored the words stretched out before me: [insert girl’s name] MARRY ME.I kid you not. A boy had chosen to profess his love and ask the biggest question he would ever ask through the medium of lavender-tinted calcium sulfate.Now, whether it was legitimate or a prank, I know not, but knowing Harding, I wouldn’t put it past some of the guys here. (No offense, fellas.)But I digress. I know you think you’re being brilliant when your proclamations are bubble-lettered and slightly highlighter-colored. Sorry, freshmen representative hopeful. It’s been done.But all is not lost. Come on, Harding kids. We can come up with something new. We’re creative, right? I already have a few suggestions and I just know you want to hear them:
- Shirts on squirrels. How could that not work? Now we need the Steve Irwin of rodents. And some tiny shirts.
- Talking swings. I believe with all my heart that there is someone out there who can tune a swing to sound like words whenever it squeaks. Imagine sitting with your new boo on said swing and hearing, just barely, “Vote for Abby. Vote for Abby.” It would certainly spark some thrilling political debates.
- Shave messages into people’s heads. This is genius. Not only would it bring about a renaissance period of hair styling, but I would definitely look twice at the back of some kid’s head if it said “ICC meeting @ 4.” Plus, I would love more than anything to see the guy left in the wake of a Cutie Pie.
But, until that day comes, let’s go easy on the sidewalks. Think about Bev. That is, unless someone wants to recreate American Gothic in front of the Benson. That’d be pretty cool.
