#33: power outages

Nothing shakes up the unspoken social conventions of Ouachita Baptist University like a good ol' power outage. Sure, by day, we are upstanding scholars. We brush the shoulders of our acquaintances with mildly interested “how’s it goings” and many a smile in the caf. We interact with professors with tact and a considerable level of hygiene. We try not to tip over the proverbial boat.

But when the lights go out, things get real. Like Bible Times real. Like Old Testament Real. Like “Oh, snap! Lot’s daughters did what?” real.

I have never been in an apocalypse. I didn’t even finish the Left Behind series. Thus, I found myself completely unprepared recently when the town of Arkadelphia found itself on the verge of total anarchy.

Two Tuesdays ago I plopped down to study for my impending Life Science test at the exact same moment that darkness seized the halls and sidewalks of our beloved campus. Like any self-respecting RA would do at such a time as this, I immediately abandoned my hall, rushing to the science building (a.k.a. The New Jerusalem of Life Science) and reassured the freshman girls cowering in the halls and stairwells of FCW3 that there would only be cause for panic if a cow came busting through the windows.

However, my Great Escape to Productivity turned out to be quite the quest. FYI, if you ever find yourself caught in the middle of an apocalypse, do not expect to get anywhere fast. The first obstacle in my and Courtney’s trek (Courtney had by this time jumped on the Jones Journey Train) to the science building was the Francis Crawford lobby. I should have known that all the residents of Flippen Perrin would converge on our halls at the first sign of weather danger. I suspect they were answering the call to use their bodies as physical Twister shields for all the vulnerable FC-dwellers who might at any moment be sucked away into oblivion. In the future, I will sleep soundly in the knowledge of this chivalrous commitment to self-sacrifice, but at the time, they were merely a blockade on the path to test preparation. Obstacle 1.

Obstacle 2 was a gargantuan tree that the wind had blown into the middle of the road. Not to fear, though. The men of Flippen Perrin were on their toes once again, rushing to the scene of the road impediment, sporting subhuman strength, headlamps, and muscle tees. It is comforting for future apocalypses to know that I live so close to an entire community of Jack Shepherds. (I suspect, though, that it wouldn't take the men of FP six seasons to get off that dadgum island.)

After safely avoiding Obstacle 2, Courtney and I slipped and slid on the lightless Ouachita sidewalks all the way to our intended goal. Yet, not surprisingly, though the Jones generators did illuminate our meiosis and exegetical notes, they did not illuminate our minds. How can one study cell reproduction when a whole host of flashlights are closing in on the Ouachita Tiger? It was like Lord of the Flies had broken out within the parameters of area code 71998. From our window, Courtney and I watched with both awe and horror as tens of (thousands of?) tiny lights crept closer and closer to our caged mascot. Meanwhile, the Tiger waited unprotected in his prison, his security cameras rendered useless by the electrical outage, leaving him as helpless as a veal or one of those suicidal shark-cage divers. Thankfully, Securitas was on the job in no time, halting the faceless ruffians from desecrating our hero with their irreverent butts on his back. (Let all Ouachitonians hereby rest assured that OBU Safety does NOT need electricity to maintain campus safety.)

Meanwhile, back at the farm, the residents of O.C. Bailey decided that a power outage was the perfect time to run, screaming, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth between their dorm and Lile.  I now know that Ouachita Football does not take pansy excuses like “total darkness” as reason for shirking physical training time.

Yet in spite of the madness, Courtney, I, the other Jones studiers, and the rest of Ouachita managed to walk away from our micro-apocalypse unscathed. The lights came back on. People went about their normal business. And I made an A on my Life Science test. What happened in the dark pretty much stayed in the dark.

I wish, though, that I had been the all-seeing Eye of Sauron in that brief moment when the Apocalype and the Ouachita Bubble collided. In those seconds right after power returned to Arkadelphia, that “Dream sequence-Jerry B. Jenkins-end of the world-I am Legend” state shook hands with the “2^nd-Baptist-attending-NorthFace-Vest-Wearing-Piggybacking-BBC kids” state. If only I could have witnessed that freshman touching the Tiger tail for the first time, or that CDA newbie in mid-rap-lyric-holler, or that streaker as he sheepishly rushed to clothe himself with the nearest shrubbery. Perhaps, then--and only then--would I have seen the true faces of Ouachitonians in all their gleaming, transparent glory.