“Welcome to the City upon a Hill”? Thanks, but no thanks—I’m an Eagle. Spare me the hustle and bustle of the city’s terrier and husky-ridden streets. Eagles hail from Chestnut Hill, our own comfortable nook at the end of the B line. At Boston(’s) College, we greet newcomers by giving directions by way of Gasson and size them up by their list of extracurriculars.
Only eat North End cuisine? Get out of here with that nonsense, Mike’s Pastry. I’m an Eagle, whose diet consists of some variation of grilled chicken and quinoa, the ever-present steak and cheese menu option, and the perfect Pelón burrito. Whoever said eagles were scavengers?
Oh, Harvard bleeds crimson? I’m an Eagle, who sweats maroon and gold every grueling step up the Million Dollar Stairs (or every cramped minute in the Maloney elevator). From the narrow climb up Gasson’s three flights to the overcrowded 4:00 showing at the Plex, every day is leg day for an Eagle.
A brownstone with a full kitchen just a T ride from Newbury Street? Psh. Why clutter your nest with so much space? I’m an Eagle. I once spent hours testing the hundreds of different bed-desk-drawer combinations that a 300-square-foot room for three girls would allow. For an Eagle, this sort of living builds character. All of this “room to yourself” business makes you weak, like those who reside further along Commonwealth Avenue.
Do I have a paid internship or co-op? By Ignatius, of course not. I’m an Eagle. Following the BC’s motto of “men and women for others,” we work to serve, free of charge. From soup kitchens to accounting firms, we provide our near-irreplaceable skill set to the betterment of such institutions, regardless of how they benefit our resumes.
No, I do not vacation on the Cape. I summer on the Cape. Eagles do not partake in the tedium of short visits. We go big or go home, to one of them.
Excited to get back to the Heights? As an Eagle, I can’t wait to get back and rekindle the fire we Eagles use to set the world aflame.
Inspired by “No, I’m from New York.”