It has been a horrid semester.
Everything that could have gone wrong, has. The last few months brought horrors prophesized in the ancient texts — namely, Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day and the lesser-known plagues of the Book of Exodus.
I walk by the Knoll and I am struck by visions of what has once been. Flickers of a man in green from deep in the recesses of my subconscious — I am a girl, haunted by visions of first terms past.
Inside the Nest, echoes of what once was bounce from wall to wall. Their voices — harmonious, lingering — do not reach my ears because this happened a year ago, but in a very real sense, I hear them. I hear what has been and what should be. Or, I posit, what should pea.
It has been nearly one year since our campus last felt the presence of Pea Man amongst its populace. It has been nearly one year since we have exPEArienced the closest thing to world (or at least campus) PEAce that has ever transPEAred.
Pea Man, come back. P(l)ea(se).
Without you, campus is void of all things lusciously legumous. Without you, there is no pea on the Knoll and no song in the Nest men’s bathroom. There is no doomscrolling in front of the Vancouver Art Gallery. There is nothing to bring us together. There is no community.
In fact, I would go so far as to blame you for everything wrong in my life, Pea Man. It was all going so well until you left. I had something to pea-lieve in. Something to live for. Something to dance for, in the words of renowned pea connoisseurs Zendaya and Bella Thorne.
My life was full of music, my stomach full of green orbs, my heart full of, well, you.
Dear reader, if you too find that Pea Man’s absence on our campus is the greatest injustice of all, like Gotham City without Batman, or something stupid without something even more stupid, I call on you. I summon you. I urge you to combat this injustice and band together to incite muntin-pea. Viva la revolution? No. Pea-va la revolution.
Pea Man, you have 48 hours to respond before we revolt (pea-volt).
Though, I understand some guy — the man beneath the mask? — claims that he will be back to host events in the future (consider this your PSA — a pea-blic service announcement), this is not enough. I will not let it pea until he is back for sure.
Fresh or jarred. Sugar or snap. Canned or mushed. This is my p(l)ea: come back to UBC, let’s make it UBP again.
First online
Share this article
