Satire: It's time for the annual running of the bids
"You’re on campus one Wednesday afternoon, and something feels off. There’s a rare energy in the air — Gucci perfume with hints of Lululemon — and low whispers of Greek letters seem to be echoing from all corners of the Quad. You’ve been camped out under a tree for hours trying to finish up an assignment, but suddenly, even in the September swelter, every hair on your arm is standing up straight. You feel uneasy and apprehensive."