The utter appall for scissors and their malicious capabilities came to a serious consideration a week ago.
In class, students exercised an impromptu debate on why a gadget like scissors could potentially make the school “look shameless”.
It was a savage storm in the form of an in class debate and the lines were well drawn. One student from the right side of the room, the stiff working and undoubtedly teeth grinding pencil pushing team, exclaimed a harsh possibility that a foe student could ruin one’s vogue with a few easy snips to the back of her head.
This in turn would be punishable by the law, forcing the A.V Press to cover a story on “Weapons and the AVC Campus Mentality”.
The intellectuals rose from the left side of the room in a pompous growl. Who could blame them, and their failure to understand the hard working man’s beckoning call.
All pieces to the scissor puzzle were thrown askew that morning; the pieces to any form of result lay scattered about the room like crumbs from an unwanted Doritos bag.
The left declared a need for scissors on campus, a particular need, a craving that couldn’t be appreciated, understood or participated by all. But for some, scissor addicts and paper cutting junkies, a scissor ban on campus would mean devastation, castration, and even suicide.
The debate lasted through the morning and detained no signs of stopping, not even for a smoke break, I’m not sure if smoking is permissible these days either, there may be some correlation, but I’ll leave that up to an investigative journalist.
The wisest and most cunning breed of man, he who can bring two arguing bodies together, was all that this room of impromptu debate needed.
A young man, and well-esteemed poet, Elliot Rigby pulled out his scissors from his glam dazzled satchel bag and stood up loudly. With the kind of presence that brings the loudest man to an inaudible squeak.
In his right hand, he clutched the unwanted school supply and held it up, stabbing the air.
The room fell silent, not a gasp to be accounted for, all lonely eyes looked up to Rigby.
The room was still split, in scissor ideology, some were patient and the others were perturbed. Still, like a slow motion scene in a film, all eyes dreamed toward Rigby.
Rigby opened his mouth, to say the seven words that the soldiers of democracy in that lonely room would never forget, and it reads, “Do not tell me how to think”.
It just might as well have come from the bible; I doubt the ancient writers of it could speak in holy numbers as poetically and demonstratively.
Although for a moment, a lapse in time introduced a certain level of confusion, for what Rigby said was not only out of context, but somewhat asinine.
Nowhere along the lines did he seem to deal with issue at hand, but coincidentally this was the catalyst to a social frenzy, in hope to keep intact humility and respect for the opinions of their peers in the impromptu debate room.
It got weirder, at a time where nothing ever stops getting weird; the bar was raised that day. Students began to think of a reasonable way to satisfy the needs of one another.
They no longer took the form of community college students; they had transcended their beings towards the thoughts and actions of educated romantics.
Every able and handsome man found his counterpart that day, as well as an agreement on a designation for those with the scissor using habit.
Sadly, their collaborations on that Tuesday morning will have been in vain. The attitude of the administration stands, and has put down a giant foot, blocking any hope of rationalizing with “the situation.”
Not to say the big man upstairs didn’t gain anything from this frenzied debate. An inter-collegiate debate is any administrations first tool of distraction when it comes to the war of “Student Life on Campus”.
Well, you’ve got em’ talking about it, at least we can use scissors in the parking lot, the one last shred of light that hits the eye of a panicked scissor addict who is subjected to the confines of such a rule or campus law, no pity for The devil mind you.
My condolence goes out to the death of the optimism that was born that random morning. Any talk or framework for a designated scissor use area might never become tangible.
The only useful place for scissors is in the parking lot, where the paper cutters should be.
The winter season and its unpredictable and somewhat brutal weather might force us scissor users into our cars, to prevent them from rusting.
But what sort of fate is in store for those who are subjected to public transportation? There will be no overhang, no gazebo; plainly no shelter to protect your scissors.
Please, AVC administration, give us a designated place to use our scissors. We won’t use them as weapons, as long as you don’t make them seem like weapons.
The use of scissors is a luxury, but sometimes, more than you may know, they are a necessity.
If this debate ever leaves the classroom, I hope you, as an administrative body can work with us, students and faculty, and have a fair meeting on the grounds of this scissor war.
We, under the student and faculty relationship, share a common nerve. Neither of us wants any casualties.
For an institution of higher levels of thinking to not only strive, but thrive, it must not only listen to the opinions of students, but also compliment and return the favor with more than an explanation, but an active collaboration.
Controversial issues like the proper use and designation of scissors on campus can be married with a good idea. Good ideas by nature satisfy every side, every angle, and will always remain the closest thing to perfect.
The action we take with ideas should not stray from their original intent. Look at the issue at hand, and with a consensual good idea, I’m sure we can coexist, and let the administration focus on real problems, like budget, ACCREDIDATION, OR THE TORN DOWN PARKING LOT.
-By Wes Horowitz
