The Unscripulous and yet to be Desecrated Arena of Fulfillment
Have you heard that our institute is building a mall for student enrichment? The venture will bring students more elation than a neighborhood pool placed in the middle of a cul de sac!
But it is nary all sunbeams and gaudy flowers. The mall will “connect” to the abstruse Johnson Journalism Building, yet envelope is more precise in terminology than “connect.”
As few properly register, this construction will carry obstructive repercussions. I am one of the aforementioned few due to my obsessive research on on-campus architecture.
With its number dwindling, the University has little hesitations with severing a journalism classroom: JHN115.
This particular journalism classroom is little known, given that its utilization reserves for ethics of journalism classes. My friends previously referred to it as “the spot,” but in modern history, the spot reawakened as the Unscripulous and yet to be Desecrated Arena of Fulfillment.
Previously, my friends hosted weekly tournaments of Mario Party 4 at the venue. Nowadays, those events are scattered and we instead spend most of our time in the room daydreaming about whether the new mall will have an Annie’s Pretzels, a record store, or a GameStop.
As the classroom wilts, gutted will be my friends and me, but we may forever retent, recall and cherish the memories.
The Nameless Tunnel
“WE ADMIT IT…WE’RE FOND OF OUR BUILDING.” You can realize unto said passage within the forefront of a departmental web page which promotes an art building fit for mild deviants and students seeking a comfy place.
The art building may offer what some denizens call treasures: bagels, coffee, and nameless hidden nooks.
Go enjoy that, sensitive souls.
But edifices alike that location, which overwhelm only the most enfeebled artists, do not belong as a subject for my writing.
Now, for those touched by treachery but moved by horrors, I introduce a location made familiar to me only by familial ties. The first step in following me will be to identify a sink drain located just outside the art building.
As a result of legal advice that a friendly stranger offered me after my last article, I shall not specify how to enter or find it any further.
Alow this drain is a labyrinthine, dank villa for an explorer. As night passes, the light level will necessitate a strong light for the approximate 3 meter descent by ladder.
Dear fearless readers, you ought to narrowly trek to the eastern lane after you reach a junction. As you progress, you may notice your immediate walls diminishing in their presence. This is no illusion suffered by morphine, anxiety, adrenaline, or any other substance one might bare.
Ready to ascend yourself and any who choose to accompany. Above you is an intricate flesh-map of electricity and pipes gone to weary abandonment.
This will lead to a tunnel more mundane in variety than that which you would find in the exterior sentences of this article. After treading for a few minutes you will reach a conspicuous room. The manifested nature of this domain will soon be made perspicuous as one realizes it was once a safety bunker during the United States Civil War.
As I travel through this nook, I take solace in knowing that the righteous cause of the union was upheld, as well as the way that university publications no longer promote the lost cause. Few spots on campus provide historical appreciation and contemplation as this one.
Throughout the war, UTK’s campus (then known as East Tennessee University) exchanged control between the confederates and the union. A corporal spirit (such as myself) filled with adventurous drive will find hallmarks of a bypassed age such as an ale or a ration characterized by its time, or even a children’s Britannica book!
Lest I unduly extend the length of this article, I cannot tell every endless crevice within the drain nor the tunnel. The rest is for you.
The Student Lounge not purported for Lounging
Not all secrets are desecrated. Nor are they all soon to be desecrated.
Many know of the Minhao Engineering Building’s prized balcony, but the romantic scenery extends far beyond the metal picnic arena.
You may be aloft, but your location will certainly defenestrate your mind through its barriers off an immaterial 6th story balcony.
As you step out onto the balcony, gander around the curvilinear path and you will unveil a lessor-in-decoration door, unlocked unsimilar to the gates of prestige.
Exercise caution! This door is freed only on Wednesdays and Fridays, presumably due to meetings that occur in the morrow. (Yes, I have done research as elaborate as this). The passage exclusively marks shut at night for janitorial scrimmages.
Welcome to and behold to an area you have surely reached; we refer to this room as The Student Lounge not purported for Lounging
My circumstantiation with the interior decor simply constructed a mental prism of awe.
With all the comfiness of the student union and all the loneliness of trespassing in Neyland Stadium, I relish in this cool spot.
The lounge is a mausoleum for feelings of being a University of Tennessee Knoxville man, woman, or non-binary denizen; You feel a part of an exclusive club, yet still, you see no one around, perhaps excluding a date or a merry tourer. You feel complete.
Farewell.
You will be seeing the future through the trees.
