Under the Button is part of a student-run nonprofit.

Please support us by disabling your ad blocker on our site.

OP-ED: I Enter Upper Quad Just to SABS My Way down to Baby Quad


Photo by Daily Pennsylvanian

Let me paint you a picture. I leave Wawa, banana, black coffee and trail mix in hand (yeah, I’m a health food beast). My destination? The womb of this campus: baby quad. Walking down Spruce, my radical itch, which rarely manifests into something real, begs to be scratched. I am ready — I'm going to SABS my way down to baby quad. 

Nervous as I am while pushing in my key code, as even jaded SABSers still need time to get in the zone, my fingers act with a degree of precision I can be proud of. Upper quad takes my breath away. I feel like the creme de la creme: entirely elite. “I’m here. I made it,” I tell myself each time. 

I stick my AirPods* in (no music on, though. SABSing is as much as about being seen as it is about seeing what’s around). One walk down Upper Quad to baby quad has me awkwardly stare down a Tinder match from months ago (who might’ve deleted our match, actually). A couple of old classmates are next in my SABSing conveyor belt — one from writing sem. Boy, was that kid’s literature review whack. But I think he’s in Castle, so I gift him a smirk. 

Right as I approach my destination within the womb, satisfied by seeing my face recognized in others', I turn a corner and run into an NSO DFMO partner…Dylan, I think. We stare at each other for a millisecond before confusion, realization and particles of shame push our sight down to the ground.

SABSing is an art, just like anything else. But as a Gregorian, it’s either I’m seen here or not at all. I’ll take what I can get. 

*I don't own AirPods.