Paltz Encounters: “Last semester, my roommate and I made a habit of going on nightly walks to the Gunk.”

Gunk Bench

Last semester, my roommate and I made a habit of going on nightly walks to the Gunk. From there, we’d stop at a bench for an hour to unpack our day and what we had planned for the next. It became quite the therapeutic ritual. Every night we’d go on a walk, talk about all our problems and leave them there for the next day.

For a long time, it was just us out, freezing in 10-degree weather for a makeshift therapy session. But as the Gunk began to thaw over, more and more people appeared on our nightly walks. And not just on our path, but sitting on our bench. 

So began our new routine: go on a walk, find people at our bench and hyperbolically complain about our lives until it eventually becomes too awkward for our newfound foes to linger listening on. 

Maybe an unorthodox approach to intimidation tactics, but hey, it frees up our bench. 

— Leslie Urena

Heave Ho

 The house rumbled as I approached the show venue called Grandma’s. The music was so loud you could almost see the energy emanate from the house. Inside, a sea of people waved back and forth, crashing into each other like waves. The low ceiling kept the sound and heat trapped. Beads of water grouped together on the pipes above, dripping down on the crowd below.

The music commanded all movement — bodies slammed into each other, bouncing off one another and mixing back into the chaos of the pit. It called to me, a rush of adrenaline coursed through me as I entered the fray. 

It was a scene of chaotic beauty in Grandma’s basement. Though we were essentially deathmatching in a circle, there was a deep sense of camaraderie. With the advent of every new song, a desire to thrash washed over with it.

At some point towards the end of the night, something came over my new compatriots and me in the pit. An inexplicable and overwhelming desire to take to the water, man a boat and just go. Given the fact that we were only at Grandma’s, we worked with what we had: opened the pit, sat down, and began rowing. 

As the song concluded, we arrived on “land.” Standing up and going back to the shoving and slamming that we had been used to throughout the night. The night concluded as normal, but as I drifted off to sleep that night thoughts of the open sea filled my mind.

“Heave Ho!

Heave Ho!” 

— Jeremy Sodergen

Bar Birthdays

Last Thursday, I returned from celebrating my friend’s 23rd birthday at Chilli’s in Newburgh.

After groaning on the couch with burst open pants buckles from stuffing our faces, two of us and the birthday girl left her apartment on a dark and empty Main Street. While weekend bargoers snuggled asleep in bed, we walked down the block and swung the door open to a bustling Snugs. Ain’t no rest for the wicked. 

A crooked “Happy Birthday” banner hung from a wooden beam. Green and orange tinsel swayed above the bar. On the board, another “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” was written in smushed block letters next to remnants of the previous night’s pool tournament score. 

My friend was far from the last person celebrating their birthday in the local dive bar. With her entrance, she made the fifth person born that day in the building. They made a wacky Aries tribe, ranging from twenty something to middle-aged.

A fellow birthday girl came over with a candle and cupcake to sing to my friend over the bar. Her girlfriend, the bartender, slid my friend a red chip: coveted Snugs currency. “Next shot is on me,” she said.  

When the piñata came out, we got plenty of candy. 

— Lilly Sabella

SUB Elevator

I’ve always had a fear of elevators. But with SUNY New Paltz’s multi-floor buildings and my bad knee, elevators have become a part of my daily routine.

The SUB elevator and I became quick friends. The elevator with the weird carpet stain, robot voice and odd stenches made a place in my heart. 

I was on my way up to the office to meet a friend, and like usual, entered at the first floor and clicked the button for the fourth. The doors glided closed, and I waited patiently for my ascent. It hit the second and third floor with no problems, but the moment it passed the third, it stopped. 

I immediately accepted my death. Final Destination style flashes of all the ways this elevator could kill me started flashing through my head. My heart rate had to have doubled, and I reached out to God and started praying I would make it to my senior year.

Then, it started again. It was probably only stuck for 30 seconds, but for me it felt like hours. I ran off to the fourth floor, and just to be careful, took the stairs down when I left.

— Sophie Moos

The Theater

I went to see a musical this week about the evolution of women through the decades. I watched the first half of the production alone, peace and serenity closing in on my back corner of the theatre.

When it was time for intermission, a woman, also sitting alone, stood up in front of me. “Can I get in there with you after intermission?” she asked me.

When the lights started to dim, my new neighbor sat down next to me and the music began again. With every historical moment played out on stage, my neighbor had a comment to go along. 

When the play jumped to the 80s, and educated women wouldn’t get hired for anything more than an assistant, Dina told me about the day that one particular company was (forced) to hire their first ever female employee. It was her. 

Dina had lived and experienced most of the events playing out on stage. She protested and marched for minority rights, and is now seeing those same rights she fought for taken away. “I always have to tell myself: Love is stronger than hate. And you ALWAYS have to remember that.” 

Act II ended, and my now-friend left, but not before advising me and my generation to keep using our voices for the people who cannot, just like she did.

— Ava Simone