Monster Who Lives Under the Stairs in South is Actually Kind of Boring
Enjoy The Light's special April 1 edition!
The average SUA student is already familiar with Druuvik, the creature of unknown origin currently making a home under the stairs in our very own South Building. A campus fixture since the construction of the building in 2000, many alumni report that he’s “just kind of been hanging around” since long before then.
“I mean, he sort of blends into the background,” says an anonymous sophomore student. “Like, come on! It’s Druuvik, man! Everybody knows Druuvik!”
She’s not wrong: this hulking mass of teeth and fur, whom The Light staff estimate to be approximately eight feet tall, is a beloved fixture of the Academy, often spotted staring with glowing, unblinking red eyes at students heading to their CP Chem classes.
Dr. Thomas describes our friendly neighborhood monster as “part of the SUA family,” noting that she rolls a Sierra Mist and a few sleeves of plain white bread into his shadowy corner about twice a week, which seems to keep him happy.
Mr. Moran adds that Druuvik even has his own ID lanyard, which he wears around his huge clawed foot like a stylish anklet. It’s technically not within uniform guidelines, but he says that he’s willing to let it slide.
But although he can appear aloof or distant at first glance, he’s actually pretty normal, if a little boring. “Druuvik is the only guy I know besides my dad who reads a newspaper,” reported a senior last Tuesday. “Like, an actual newspaper. And his favorite comic strip is ‘Marmaduke.’”
When I sat down for an interview with the apparently ancient being, he informed me that his favorite pastime is stretching a rubber band he found to different lengths and plucking it to get slightly different notes. He doesn’t know how to play any songs; he’s just into making noise, I guess. When I informed him that there’s a full room of guitars upstairs, he responded simply, “I like the rubber band.” You do you, bud.
In addition, Druuvik is an aspiring Beat poet. Snapping rhythmically with clawed hands, he shared some of his work with me:
The polar bears are drowning
Drowning in an ocean of my tears
Our evolution is not the solution
We are the proof of pollution
In this illusion of a revolution
Injustice... just is!
I cut him off there. It was too early in the morning for me to think about climate change, and I can’t say I’m a huge fan of slant rhyme.
As for Druuvik’s future plans, he’s looking for love. Anyone interested can follow him on LinkedIn, which is the only social media he has, or drop a comment on his blog, “The Mouth of South,” where he posts grooming tips, haikus about what he thinks the weather outside might be like, and episode-by-episode reactions to The Crown. He genuinely doesn’t know what’s going to happen to Diana (he doesn’t get out much) and at this point, I really can’t bring myself to tell him.
“Druuvik?” asked Mr. Tonnis, who teaches history classes in South. “Oh, yeah, right! I’ll be honest, I kind of forgot who that was. He’s just so boring, I just kind of find myself avoiding him.”
“I talked to him about stamps once,” says Ms. Jennings, another South teacher. “I don’t even know how we ended up at stamps, but it was dark by the time I got out of there.”
Although Druuvik is a fixture of SUA life, he’s more complicated than some may think. So next time you’re heading to Bio, give him a little wave or say hello, and then tell him you really can’t stop and talk about bocce ball right now, but you’ll catch him next time.