The Reflection Pond in front of R.M. Cooper Library is one of the most iconic and picturesque sites on Clemson University’s campus, which makes it all the more frustrating that it seems to be perpetually empty. I’ve been as irritated as anyone by the constant dehydration of everyone’s favorite campus feature, so I resolved to discover the reason behind the pond’s seeming inability to remain wet.
My search was arduous and extensive — I spent months scouring the library’s stacks in vain, until the answer fell right into my lap on March 32. That morning, I received an email inviting me to join the Clemson University Reflection Pond Draining Club. The message was brief and vague. “Come help us drain the pond again tonight at like 9:03,” it read, then a baffling disclaimer: “Bring your own straw.”
In the name of journalism, I made my way to the center of campus at 9:01 p.m., lime-green bendy straw in hand. A crowd had already begun to gather in the shadows around the pond. I noticed with some interest that they were all bald. Their heads, round and very smooth, gleamed in the moonlight.
At precisely 9:03 p.m., the group — at least 50 bald people — silently moved as one, forming a ring around the water feature. They knelt, almost reverent in their silent grace, and each person produced from somewhere on their person a drinking straw. They lowered their straws in unison to the surface of the water, and they began to drink.
In contrast to the unsettling serenity of the rest of the proceedings, the actual draining of the pond was unpleasantly loud. The air was filled with slurping and bubbling noises that were frankly kind of gross. They were so objectionable, in fact, that I involuntarily recoiled. This was a mistake. The drinkers abruptly stopped their ritual, turning to stare at me wordlessly.
One of the club members, a plain-looking man holding a very impressive curly straw, stood and approached me. “Do you wish,” he asked in the voice of someone trying really hard to sound cooler than they actually are, “to learn our ways?” I nodded hesitantly.
Within a few minutes, the bald man and I were seated at one of the metal tables in front of the library, me sitting awkwardly while he carefully placed his straw back into its custom-made carrying case. He told me his name was John President, and he was the president of the Reflection Pond Draining Club.
“You’re probably wondering why our club is drinking the Reflection Pond,” he said. The answer turned out to be very simple.
“Our goal is to bring about the second coming of Jimbo Clemz to preside once more over this high seminary of learning,” the club president said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“We need the pond empty to perform the resurrection ritual, and once Jimbo Clemz again walks upon this mortal plane, it will fill again as if by magic or divine providence, except this time, instead of water, it will be orange soda, to promote school spirit.”
I was understandably skeptical about essentially everything he’d said. Most importantly, Jimbo Clemz is definitely not dead. John President scoffed when I pointed this out.
“Oh, sure,” he said. “That’s the official story that Clemson News and The Kitten will tell you, but you know you can’t trust the mainstream media these days.” He was very adamant that Clemz was dead and that resurrecting him was an absolute necessity.
“If Jimbo Clemz is alive and necromancy is fake,” John President said very seriously, “then that would mean I’d have shaved my head for nothing, which would be crazy. And I’m not crazy. Obviously.”
I agreed, because it seemed like the safest option. John President elaborated in great detail about his club’s plans. He claimed to have extensively studied the resurrection of Lord Garmadon in “Lego Ninjago,” the Wikipedia page “Baldness” and the history of decorative water features in preparation for his task. He made it very clear that he had not consulted the Bible for advice, since that would have been both blasphemous and cliché.
Ultimately, the Reflection Pond Draining Club is about community. “We’re just trying to provide a space on campus for people who really like Jimbo Clemz and wish that Clemson had more opportunities for dark mages and scary warlocks,” John President said. If arcane rituals and shadowy dealings beneath the silvery light of the moon are your thing, be sure to stop by their next meeting on April 31.
This satirical article is part of The Tiger’s April Fool’s edition, The Kitten. This story was written for comedic purposes and has no verifiable truth to it.
