Henry Gargan is the Opinion Editor. He is a senior journalism and global studies major from Chapel Hill.
T he position of opinion editor is a high and noble office. It comes with many weighty responsibilities, but none more important and glamorous than that of Kvetching board moderator.
We began the year with a mission to make the Kvetching board a generally less misogynistic and more sophisticated place to be grumpy. And many of the terrible submissions we receive — a surprisingly large number of which rely on the varied uses of the letter “D” — make the culling process fairly easy.
But some of the other kvetches that don’t make the cut are just, well, not funny. Or they’re incoherent. Or a little sad. We’ve decided some of these deserve their moment in the sun as well. After all, their authors were kind enough to think of us when they were at their lowest. What follows is an annotated list of some of this year’s less creepy rejected kvetches.
“Jessica, will you go out with me?” This is not a kvetch. And while we applaud this suitor’s creativity, we wish he or she had considered the sheer volume of Jessicas at this school and included a last name. As submitted, we didn’t feel it was worth putting each of UNC’s 318 Jessicas (we checked) through the wringer.
“To the balding IT guy who spiked up his residual hair, can’t let go of the glory days can you?” Interestingly, this kvetch’s author submits about one per week having to do with male pattern baldness. Most of them are just as mean as this one, and all of them reveal a poorly suppressed fear of time’s ceaseless passage.
“To the girl I like: I’m really not stupid, I just got nervous and said something incomprehensible at the end of that conversation.” Also not a kvetch. We’ve all been there, and we wish you the best. But if you want to be better comprehended, the anonymity of the Kvetching board can’t really help you out.
“To everyone who gets to go out and party on Saturday night: Please stop telling me about how great it is, some of us have to study.” This is a legitimate gripe, but it’s a self-indulgent one — and it’s not particularly funny. It’s the kind of thing that crosses my mind while I’m lying awake at 3 a.m. trying to telekinetically sabotage next door’s subwoofer.
“To my Poor Senior Daughter, after getting up at The Crack of NOON ALL this Summer, welcome back to UNC and the Crack of Dawn. Have a Great Senior Year.” This is actually really cute, but it’s not a kvetch. Still, I’m putting this on my list of sweet-but-embarrassing things to do to my future children. I’m hoping whoever has this job 30 years from now is a little more charitable.