DEAN INITIATION EXPOSED: Mr. [REDACTED] Speaks His Truth
As I write this, I fear for my life. Under the guise of the GAP system, Andover’s Deans have gotten all the more strict. Therefore, I wish to remain anonymous.
I served as an Andover Cluster Dean for six years. Here is my story. It started with the opening of school. My first evening with students on campus, I heard a knock at my door. I was blindfolded and thrown in the trunk of a Prius (its hybrid engine has a distinct sound). When we stopped, I was immediately hurled down a flight of stairs. Through a sliver in my blindfold, I saw several lab coats and motivational posters hanging from wooden pegs: RayK’s basement. I could feel the other Deans around me. They were wearing masks, but I knew who they were by the smell of dying academia in the air. After forcing me to chug a gallon of spiked Commons silverware juice, they made me crawl around while I recited the Blue Book. After this, I had to write the anti-hazing agreement 1,000 times, which I then signed with my own blood. Finally, I was given my first task — catching six Juniors by sign-in.
As I stepped into the night air, I felt drunk and determined. I had come so far: years and years of college, four master’s degrees, a teaching gig at a lower-ranked boarding school — how could I let a little booze-fueled trauma ruin my career? I knew where I needed to be: the Den bathrooms. I rampaged down the stairs, made a hard left, and kicked the door down. Lo and behold, what did I see but seven pairs of legs huddled together in the large stall? I knew what that meant. I got onto my stomach and shimmied under the stall door.
“It smells funny in here,” I said, making my presence known. The girls gasped. I was thrilled — this was the most female attention I had gotten since middle school. “What’s in the Propel?” I asked, still face-down on the floor. The girls stammered, clearly intoxicated. Still lying on the ground, I read them their rights. The next morning, after seven productive community meetings, each of the girls was put on probation. Success.
At least, that’s how I thought of it then. This was the first of many similar incidents, and I’m ashamed of the crimes I’ve committed in the name of the Blue Book. I’m getting emotional as I write this, and the taste of the silverware spike still haunts me to this day. My years at Andover left me traumatized and slightly alcoholic (I admit, on more than one occasion, I dipped into the contraband we found). Therefore, I offer up a warning to future Andover Deans: don’t do it. Whether it be arresting Juniors, giving an EBI presentation, or speaking in a dorm, your mental health and morality are more important than any Niche ranking or drug bust.
