The best part of my day begins now. The first column that I see is about some University construction project — an easy target. I comment with my usual attack about how sad it is that ‘Prince’ columnists have nothing better to write about than the feasibility of mundane University projects.
The next column is a bit more complicated — it’s about the social dynamics of the Street and how they reflect the inner biases of Princeton students. I consider asking why ‘Prince’ columnists think that writing about the selectivity of Bicker is always a viable topic, but I then realize that the author had several original and pointed ideas.
What a shame. I read the column again with a different technique in mind — I shall employ a typical argumentum ad logica — picking out a false part of the author’s argument to infer that the conclusion is false (most students at this “institution of higher learning” are so obtuse that they do not even recognize this fallacy).
I realize a discrepancy that I had missed before (I must be tired today, or perhaps I am losing my touch). The columnist points out that there are alternatives to eating club events — but I distinctly recall seeing somewhere that the columnist is a member of a bicker club. Not only that, but she is an officer! I rack my brain for a few moments before remembering which club she belongs to and which officer position she holds. Then I get to work.
Those who oppose my comments online try to assail my position by claiming that someone who makes observations of such high quality must devote a large portion of time to the endeavor. Perhaps for mere mortals like them. From beginning to end, my first round of comments on the ‘Prince’ website takes no more than an hour. I suppose this misunderstanding is because normal Princeton students don’t have the memory that I do. When I read an article, I automatically cross-reference it with everything else the author has written — always on the lookout for hypocrisy. I also keep in mind everything that has been written about the topic by others, so that I can make the general inanity of the ‘Prince’ more widely known.
What would Princeton do without me? God knows that my detractors have spent thoooouuuusands of hours framing me as abusive, whereas in reality I am almost single-handedly responsible for all reasonable discourse on this campus. When columnists get out of line, I have come to consider it my responsibility to make sure they remember their place on the totem pole. If only I could post my real name on my comments! How I would love to show them that it is not some invisible entity that is haranguing them from the sidelines, but a flesh-and-blood person with real fears, real concerns and real problems. But I can’t reveal my identity; when I hold public office, my strongly worded comments might be seen by the meek as belligerent and short-tempered. An alias is the balance I have struck between my desire to improve this campus and the necessity of discretion.
Over breakfast, I see my fellow “classmates” hunched over essays or problem sets — wasting away their lives with schoolwork. Soon enough, I notice someone with a copy of the ‘Prince’ in hand, discussing its contents with his friend — both in animated discussion. I lean over to better hear what they are saying.
“I feel bad for this columnist you know? Like, she had some good points — but I know she’ll be butchered by the trolls online.”
Unable to contain my joy, I leap from the table and beamingly rush back to my room. Once there, I hit the ‘Prince’ shortcut in my browser and open the comments section. Ah, there it is: Only 47 minutes after my own post, four others have appeared, all of which seem to take my comments seriously and defend the author in turn. But I don’t take their counter-attacks personally — because they attack my online persona, not me. In the real world, I am immune to attack. I am invisible.
David Mendelsohn is a psychology major from Rockville Centre, N.Y. He can be reached at dmendels@princeton.edu.