After rawdogging a four hour group meeting with nothing to contribute but vibes and extreme gas from the Mocha Oat Milk Cold Brew from Second Cup that was sustaining me for the day, I decided to take the elevator from the second floor of MDCL Many things were running through my mind that day, such as, “Why am I here? How do I get out?”. I was so preoccupied with these thoughts that I watched in horror as my triple serving of milk spewed everywhere but into my XL coffee cup from the glistening white teat of the milk dispenser. Suddenly, I felt an ominous presence behind me. I turned around slowly and came face-to-face with the Café One employee. Their eyes were large and bloodshot as they whispered to me, “You forgot to put your cup under the dispenser.” My lips could barely move as I tried to spit out an apology, but before I even could, they put their icy finger on my lips. “Don’t worry,” they crooned, “I turned your entire family into cows so that you have unlimited milk for the rest of your life.” The Café One employee began cackling, and I squealed in terror as I ran from the café to the other side of MDCL. I couldn’t believe what was happening. I suddenly realized how silent the building had become—it was as though I was the only one there. “There’s no way they actually turned my family into cows, right?,” I thought to myself. Just to be sure, I took out my phone to call my mom when out of the corner of my eye, I saw a short man wearing a blue sweater and brown slacks scurry out of the freight elevator. I froze—peeking around the corner to get a second look, I was immediately hit in the face with a potent smell. “Atropine,” the man said. “What???,” I yelled. But before I could find out what I was breathing in, he scurried back into the freight elevator. My vision started to blur and I stumbled to one of the Muskoka chairs to sit down. In a daze, I attempted to pull out my phone to call my mom for help, and to also make sure she hadn’t turned into a cow, when I saw what seemed like an army of floating neon green backpacks approach me. “OMA god,” I mumbled, as my eyelids slowly began to betray me.
I woke up to a startling noise—it was a Teams notification for an announcement from Margarita Sangria.
“Simulated Person Reflection (Horror-Themed), Due December 22”
The Procrastinator 