OP-ED: If Low Rise Is Trendy Then Why Am I on the 24th Floor of Rodin?

Riddle me this. I hear these whispers, these gentle little whispers from the angelic women of multiple prestigious, skinny greek life organizations. They call to me in the night, I hear their voices like the rat-tat-tat of a fist knocking at the door. These voices haunt me, they trail me in the the night, they speak in poetic stanzas that seep into my brain:

Low rise, low rise

You must partake in this enterprise

Low rise, low rise 

You must wear these jeans that cling to your thighs

I listened to this poem with great stride, it rings in my ear as I slip on the low rise denim from the local Urban Outfitters these girls led me to. Low rise. Low rise.

But then, as if it unison with the purchase of these bottoms, time stops. My heart skips a beat. My nipples invert. Something is wrong. Something is oh so very wrong.

And then it hits me – why am I here? Not just on this floating rock we call our world, not just this disgusting, tormented building I call home and my peers call Rodin…no…

Why am I on the 24th floor? I listened to these whispers of the mighty Low Rise power, I followed this trend with all of my being. How could I disobey such an important cause, such a vital commandment? 

I must immediately move to the first floor. I submitted my request already. Now I wait, in earnest longing.