Dear Doolino,
I am simply broke after blowing all of my father’s – I mean, all of my money on campus shenanigans (and a quick spring break trip to the Maldives). To make matters worse, my dad is following in Emory University’s footsteps after the new campus budget cuts by cutting off my allowance! How will I spend thousands of dollars per month on Ubers to Maggie’s Neighborhood Bar, Tongue and Groove and the Jimmy John’s down the street? Oh, Doolino, what do I do?
From, Broke Beau
Dear Broke Beau,
Upon reflecting on your troubles, my mind is drawn to the word “class” — it is a funny word, isn’t it? Presumably, you attend classes here at Emory. Additionally, you seem to be lacking a bit of class regarding social skills. If you had any, you would be presenting worthy issues to Emory’s oldest and most majestic skeletal mascot, Doolino. Most importantly, however, you seem to be woefully unaware of the class divisions that plague this wretched Earth and, by extension, your beloved University.
I am a busy skeleton, Beau. I do not have time to educate you on the importance of practical spending — you, Goizueta Business School nepotism baby who never had to take his own laundry out of the dryer before coming to college. In hell, our best torturers regularly add billionaires to the nightly stew, making it only marginally tastier than the unidentifiable slop served at the Dobbs Common Table (DCT). Forgive me, then, if I am less than sympathetic toward your financial woes. Despite the fact that your problems are laughingly asinine, I will try my best to answer your pleas. It has been a few weeks since spring break, and while both slackers and overachievers just barely survived midterms, all students will soon be suffering through the academic slog of final exams and papers once more. Therefore, I will pity you, Beau. By sharing your pathetic problems with the world, I will provide the more intelligent students among us with some slight entertainment.
Beau, I know that this is hard. How will you afford an Uber to Emory Village? Are you truly expected to slum it like the common folk on campus and walk five whole minutes to CVS? Such an action is surely entirely and horrifically unheard of. While I am sure you are used to arriving at Dave’s Cosmic Subs with the air of a king and the limousine to prove it, those days may be behind you. Now, you may simply have to brush the dust off your running shoes, stretch out those tight hamstrings of yours and begin the long trek from your cushy Raoul Hall dormitory to the bustling streets of Emory Village. Look on the bright side: All the unexpected cardio from walking everywhere may transform you into an utter machine, flooded with potential mates. Perhaps this was your father’s plan all along — far from being concerned about your spending habits, he may have merely been disappointed in, for lack of a better phrase, your resounding lack of game. Regardless of his reasoning, your father clearly wants you to lace up those shoes and take to the streets.
If participating in physical exertion is too painful a punishment to bear, consider another alternative: Donate your body to science. For those unaware, Emory is an R1 research university, meaning that the institution focuses a very high amount of funding toward research and doctoral studies. As such, there are no shortages of scientific studies available for you to donate your body and mind to — at least until the federal government shuts down funding for body farms. Consider participating in a psychology study. Perhaps the researchers will hypnotize you into being more responsible with your money! The more you subject yourself to being poked and prodded for experimentation, the quicker your financial situation will be remedied. However, you may find it easier to resign yourself to eating at the DCT every night and give up. It seems, my friend, that your daddy dearest has you in check, and you simply have no white knights left to defend yourself with. If you do not have the intelligence to understand my highly sophisticated chess references, let me phrase my response in a way you can understand: You’re out of luck.
I am aware that this advice may sound unconventional coming from me. Is Doolino, Emory incarnate, undead master of the ages, truly giving in without a fight? While I am a paragon of inimitable power, immovable strength, boundless wisdom and particularly snazzy fashion, I am also something even better: financially responsible. Spending money and defying parental figures can be thrilling, but I am no idiot. You are clearly not paying for your own tuition, and judging by your use of syntax, you are no Robert W. Woodruff Scholar. It seems that you must holster your misgivings and resign yourself to an Instagram post to chronicle your expensive Emory ventures of the past. You could caption your post with something witty and original, such as “Can’t wait to make more m(Emory)s this semester!” If you are desperate, pool your remaining Dooley Dollars at the Eagle Emporium and wow your father with a smorgasbord of ramen noodles, ice cream pints and stale turkey kaiser sandwiches — he may yet take pity on you.
Now, if you will excuse me, I am returning to my slumber which you so rudely interrupted with your asinine blathering of a question. I might purchase a mattress topper before I do so because Emory-provided coffins are impossible to sleep in. Ah, it is nice having money to spare, isn’t it? I suppose you would not know. Next time, consider conserving your money. If you are itching for a fun weekend getaway, perhaps you should ask a Dobbs Hall resident if you could camp out underneath their bed — I am sure the roaches would love your company. Enjoy your sad, free DCT chicken patties, Beau. And always remember: Doolino knows best.
