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The Canada Goose Diaries, Episode 1: Allston Crawl Horrors

The following is an excerpt from the personal diary of a grey winter parka made by Canada Goose Inc., serial number 12221997. The Black Sheep originally found the jacket in critical condition during the polar cyclone bomb, having nearly frozen to death while trapped up to its hood in a frigid snowbank.

Following two weeks of intensive thawing procedures (lots of humidifiers), Canada Goose Parka 12221997 has made a full recovery. While it could not remember how it ended up there, it was willing to disclose that it had belonged to a first-year student during the Fall 2017 semester.

Within the parka’s notebook, The Black Sheep was amazed to find over fifty detailed entries, chronicling its various adventures of being worn, dropped, and even forgotten in some of BU’s grimiest social locales. With its consent, The Black Sheep plans to publish its stories throughout the Spring 2018 semester in the hopes of providing a new level of clarity and perspective on BU’s party culture.

Reader discretion is advised, but sometimes the truth is a tough pill to swallow.

October 13th, 2017

10:26 p.m.:

Dear Diary,

I can tell we’re going out tonight. Through the slim crack of the closet curtain I can see all the markings of a weeknight on the town: halter tops, wedges, a plugged-in curling iron, three uber-sweet bottles of pink lemonade chaser, and of course, the dreaded liter of pineapple-flavored Svedka on top of the MicroFridge. Outside, it’s 32 degrees Fahrenheit. I’m afraid it’s only a matter of time before I become a part of this dreaded party equation…

10:44 p.m.:

Her four friends have arrived, all wearing similar garments. Soon enough, the pineapple Svedka will run dry. And you don’t have to be a $950 Canada Goose jacket to know that when the drinks stop flowing, to the party you start going. Fingers crossed that she decides to wear her North Face fleece instead…

11:13 p.m.:

She didn’t take the North Face. Down we go, the elevator plagued with the collective stench of a Macy’s perfume department. A few jokes are told about their “failed” first midterm exams. I hold my breath until we finally step out into the brisk night air. For the first time tonight, I feel like myself again.

A little part of me prays they’ve decided to get Insomnia Cookies and call it a night, but mu glimmer of hope quickly diminishes: we’ve turned the other way. I close my eyes, preparing for what’s to come. When I reopen them, the school buildings are far behind us, creeping closer toward the gaping mouth of Allston. In the distance, I can see that she forgot to turn the lights off before leaving the room. My closet feels another world away. I hope that someday I return there. Into the belly of the beast we go…

11:46 p.m.:

We’ve arrived, but beyond that, I can’t describe much. The entire house is engulfed in a haze of marijuana, menthols, and Juul smoke, seeping into my expensive innards and nearly blinding me. The vast number of students crowded together has increased the indoor temperature to over 90 degrees Fahrenheit. She’s bound to take me off soon. The question is, where?

12:22 a.m.:

An upstairs bedroom, that’s where. Tossed thanklessly onto the massive pile of lesser coats, confined for what has felt like an eternity. Oh diary, the horrors I have seen from this forsaken spot! A guy wearing nothing but a backwards hat trying to twerk, a young lady who poured Natural Light all over my fur hood, and quite possibly the worst make out technique I have ever encountered. I don’t know how much longer I can bear it…

12:31 a.m.:

A flash of red and blue lights. The sound of screams inside. Cops! At last, some hope. A sea of inebriated partygoers flock into the room, ravenously searching for their coats. She’ll come back for me…won’t she?

1:06 a.m.:

I must now accept that I shall not be rescued. I, the crown jewel of winter gear, has been cast away, selfishly abandoned like a common street hoodie. The night will be long, sweet diary. The toxic concoction of the air has started to make me woozy, but I must stay strong. I can’t go on…but I must go on…because that’s what a Canada Goose does.

And so concludes Canada Goose Parka 12221997 harrowing entry of October 13th, 2017. Remember, the things in our lives may or may not be sentient. Like, you know, Toy Story, except coats and stuff. Look out for Canada Goose Parka 12221997’s next diary entry, who knows what horrors it will divulge. 

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