Bromley Hall: the residence hub where only the most elite of UIUC freshmen are granted access. The bitterness of the applicants who never made it off the waitlist, and begrudgingly signed for Illini Tower, lingers around Third Street. But no need to feel salty anymore, because you’ve dodged a major bullet. You see, dear reader, Bromley is a dystopian hellscape.
From the outside, Bromley Hall, commonly referred to as “Brom,” seems a little too perfect. And it is. On the inside, there’s something much more sinister going on. Bromley is a simulation, and mirrors the dystopian societies of those in books you may or may not have admitted to being addicted to in eighth grade. Any true fan of the Divergent series, knows the telltale sign of this trap.
The coveted lobby lures you in with their sparkling indoor pool, the word “deluxe” to describe the rooms on the website, an out of place grand piano, and glass pitchers filled with punch, and embellished with various citrus fruits. It’s like you’re back home in the suburbs at the country club your daddy has a golf membership at!
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Bromley was created as a haven for the economically evolved students of UIUC, so that they wouldn’t have to cohabitate with the commoners running amok around the Six Pack. But now, it has become a community of entitled partiers bred to be the exact same as everyone around them.
Once you make it past the second door, all human personality vanishes. You must abide to the strict dress code of t-shirts from that philanthropy event you went to when you first rushed, and had no idea what was going on. What happened to that passion you had when you wrote that essay in sixth grade to ban all uniforms so that students can “express themselves”?
When you live in Bromley, especially if you live in an envied corner room, you don’t have a choice about hosting the pregame to the pregame to the pregame. No one else can fit as many tapestries in their room, and where the hell else are you supposed to take pictures? Sometimes, you might even need a break from binge drinking the Burnett’s that your grand big bought for you and, like, study or something.
Not only did they take away your inside feelings, but you don’t even have physical senses anymore. It’s 12 degrees outside, yet they engrain in your mind that you’re too good to take the 22N to class, and that the shortcut in the back through the ZBT parking lot is a better option.
Let’s not forget about that well of toxic waste that they try to pass off as a swimming pool. The dreams of reliving your high school glory days going to state in butterfly were crushed by the ripe smell of STDs floating in the water. All there’s left to do now is stare longingly through the glass door, and think about what could’ve been.
We’re not trying to scare you, we’re just here to tell you what the government is too scared to admit. It’s not like they’re going to kill you or anything, but it would probably be in your best interest to locate and remove the chip they implanted in your brain when they gave you your Bromley ID card.