Crimson staff writer
We asked the Witches how one could join them. Is there an election? A comp process? Can we be punched? To which the Witches replied, “We are Witches. We’re not a club, we’re not an organization, we’re not a secret society. We’re not a final club, and you can’t comp us.”
I scan the room. I am surrounded by wide nostrils, tiny chins, and, oh dear god, goatees. My eyes are burning. Everyone is so… ugly.
Though Martin says he “would love to stay at Annenberg,” his hours at the Dunster dining hall are more conducive to work-life balance.