Beneath the Zipper: Grievances From The Lost And Forgotten Items Of Mariemont Backpacks


Around 7:00 am, your home bustles with activity. You scramble through the house to prepare the items you need for the day. This list commonly includes a laptop, a charger, a few textbooks, and maybe a lunch. Every day, after completing your morning routine, you sling your backpack over your shoulder and out the door you go. However, not once have you stopped to even consider us, the lost and forgotten items who inhabit the crevices of your backpack.

We, the neglected contents of backpacks, have discussed our grievances and decided we will stand for it no longer. This letter, addressed to the well intentioned but unfortunately forgetful students of Mariemont, contains a list of complaints regarding our situation…

From the 4th Bell study hall pass

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Dennerll reveals his sought-after study hall pass stating that he is basically untouchable during his study hall bell (PHOTO BY NIXON).

To Mr. Robert Dennerll,

It’s it’s been a while since we last saw each other. About a month ago you took me away from the others when you left for the library. You curled me up like I was a tortilla and threw me in your backpack. At the conclusion of Study Hall, you did not return me to my rightful home. The following bell your MacBook Pro shoved me to the bottom right corner of your backpack. And this is where I have lay ever since. Just as well it smells down here. I don’t know what food you’re storing down here but it’s not aging well. And I swear this Starbucks receipt has been staring me down. I don’t know if you plan to walk around study hall unaccounted for, but I hope justice sees you out, you cruel student of Mariemont.

From a misused Cheese stick to Mr. Ben Phelan

Four months since I was removed from your fridge, shoved in a most oppressive and loud brown bag. At lunch you picked through all the food like you were picking teams for dodgeball; however, you never grabbed me. At the  conclusion of lunch you dropped me past the books, through a crevice, and since this is where I lie. I don’t know what the smell is but I’m pretty sure its me. Just as well, I’ve developed a fuzzy coating that I wouldn’t deem appetizing.

Ben Phelan admits he does have some regret in neglecting his cheese-stick to such a degree (PHOTO BY NIXON).


Grievances of a forgotten bandanna

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To Ms. Kemper,

I still don’t know why I’m here. Cut from a long fabric of patriotism and excellence, I deserve better than this. In my youth, I had dreams of being used on long hikes, in decorations, or even as a bit of pocket flare. Never in my wildest dreams did think I would end up here. Deep within this hole of lost dreams, it’s dark, cold, and cramped. Occasionally a beam of light illuminates this death chamber. However, the light has proven to be false hope as I have yet to see the world since that fateful day when you pulled me taught across your forehead and paraded me around the school feigning patriotism. But what kind of American are you to forget me in this dingy jail tomb. I’m starting to think my days are numbered. Your three-subject notebook has stabbed me with its binding nearly 4 times now, and I don’t know how much longer my polyester fabric can stand it.