Image
File
“@,
Co
CJ Sommerfeld
Staff Writer
VIC
What the Zoom?!?
» Apparently Zoom teaches more than academia
LN
Have an idea for a story?
M humour@theotherpress.ca
ATABATABATA! The sound of a
helicopter pierced Betty Yetterson’s
dream. In her half-dazed state, she
remained cocooned in her covers, relishing
in the ultimate fantasy of a dream which
she had just been woken from. An alternate
reality where students sat in class, on
campus, not social distanced, and—gasp,
maskless!
“FRICK?” Yetterson screamed,
remembering that on Tuesday mornings
she had MUSC 1106, a piano class—on
Zoom... of course. After a quick trip to the
toilet, she dragged her keyboard from its
usual dark corner across her apartment to a
better lit area. En route to the better lit area,
she stepped on the peddle, stumbling, but
thankfully catching her fall. She opened up
her laptop atop the table that she placed
next to her keyboard’s new location so that
her teacher could see her key-fingering.
See
ie anna eee
Once her chair, instrument, and laptop were
positioned in harmony, she clicked on the
class’ Zoom link.
Please wait until the host lets you in the
grey box read. “They're probably in breakout
rooms... fuuuuuck, I'll never be let in.” She
told herself, eyeing yesterday's leftover coffee
sitting on the kitchen counter. She waited
a couple more seconds before excusing
herself from her seat to grab the cold cup of
joe. Suddenly, she heard her teacher's voice
blaring from her laptop's internal speakers:
“Betty, youre late! And I’m talking to a chair”
Yetterson looked across the at her cracked
pleather chair, impersonating her presence.
She grabbed the cold cup, anxiously skipping
back to her seat.
Only when she saw the reflection of her
unshaved legs in the tiny Zoom box that read
Betty Yetterson did she realize that in her fury
to get to class, she had forgotten to put pants
on! Yetterson sat quickly, hoping to mask her
hairier than usual legs out of the frame. In
doing so, her quick motions jolted drips of
cold coffee onto her shirt. “Frick, what a slob!”
She thought to herself, hoping that her Zoom
square was not one the default squares that
was [showing] to her classmates.
“Before I put ya'll in ‘breakout rooms;
let's grab some manuscript paper and notate
Bethoven’s “Shepard’s Song.” Yetterson’s
manuscript paper was in her bedroom, which
was across her apartment. Looking down
at her skivvies, she reminded herself no can
do. She peered at each of her classmates
little Zoom squares. Each displayed an image
synonymous to one another: a keyboard or
piano, accompanied by the top of a head,
their eyes down notating the song which
the teacher had asked them to. Yetterson
blankly stared at her keyboard waiting for the
others to complete their task. She exposed
the top of her head to her camera, imitating
her classmates, pretending that she too was
completing the task.
She then noticed a button that read
metronome on her keyboard. Despite
being in a music program, her rhythm was
humour // no. 23
¢ Apparently Zoom teaches more than
academia
¢ What’s this week looking like for you?
..and that's everything!
Illustration by CJ Sommerfeld
comparable to Steve Martins’ in The Jerk and
had been searching for a good metronome
app to no avail. Without thinking, she
tapped on the metronome button. UH OH!
Instead of some subtle noise to assist in
keeping rhythm, an EDM-like melody nearly
ruptured the keyboard's speakers. Ina fury,
Yetterson began pushing different buttons
on her instrument to mute its dissonance,
eventually turning the keyboard off in its
entirety. As she looked up, her Zoom screen
read “The host has muted all participants,
click alt+shift to unmute yourself” The small
Zoom boxes which once exhibited the tops
of her classmate’s heads now displayed
wondering faces, some were smirking, others
collapsed in laughter behind their muted
screens.
Yetterson never did figure out how to
use the metronome knob on her keyboard.
She did, however, remember that putting on
pants was as important a step in the morning
as coming to class!
Co
CJ Sommerfeld
Staff Writer
VIC
What the Zoom?!?
» Apparently Zoom teaches more than academia
LN
Have an idea for a story?
M humour@theotherpress.ca
ATABATABATA! The sound of a
helicopter pierced Betty Yetterson’s
dream. In her half-dazed state, she
remained cocooned in her covers, relishing
in the ultimate fantasy of a dream which
she had just been woken from. An alternate
reality where students sat in class, on
campus, not social distanced, and—gasp,
maskless!
“FRICK?” Yetterson screamed,
remembering that on Tuesday mornings
she had MUSC 1106, a piano class—on
Zoom... of course. After a quick trip to the
toilet, she dragged her keyboard from its
usual dark corner across her apartment to a
better lit area. En route to the better lit area,
she stepped on the peddle, stumbling, but
thankfully catching her fall. She opened up
her laptop atop the table that she placed
next to her keyboard’s new location so that
her teacher could see her key-fingering.
See
ie anna eee
Once her chair, instrument, and laptop were
positioned in harmony, she clicked on the
class’ Zoom link.
Please wait until the host lets you in the
grey box read. “They're probably in breakout
rooms... fuuuuuck, I'll never be let in.” She
told herself, eyeing yesterday's leftover coffee
sitting on the kitchen counter. She waited
a couple more seconds before excusing
herself from her seat to grab the cold cup of
joe. Suddenly, she heard her teacher's voice
blaring from her laptop's internal speakers:
“Betty, youre late! And I’m talking to a chair”
Yetterson looked across the at her cracked
pleather chair, impersonating her presence.
She grabbed the cold cup, anxiously skipping
back to her seat.
Only when she saw the reflection of her
unshaved legs in the tiny Zoom box that read
Betty Yetterson did she realize that in her fury
to get to class, she had forgotten to put pants
on! Yetterson sat quickly, hoping to mask her
hairier than usual legs out of the frame. In
doing so, her quick motions jolted drips of
cold coffee onto her shirt. “Frick, what a slob!”
She thought to herself, hoping that her Zoom
square was not one the default squares that
was [showing] to her classmates.
“Before I put ya'll in ‘breakout rooms;
let's grab some manuscript paper and notate
Bethoven’s “Shepard’s Song.” Yetterson’s
manuscript paper was in her bedroom, which
was across her apartment. Looking down
at her skivvies, she reminded herself no can
do. She peered at each of her classmates
little Zoom squares. Each displayed an image
synonymous to one another: a keyboard or
piano, accompanied by the top of a head,
their eyes down notating the song which
the teacher had asked them to. Yetterson
blankly stared at her keyboard waiting for the
others to complete their task. She exposed
the top of her head to her camera, imitating
her classmates, pretending that she too was
completing the task.
She then noticed a button that read
metronome on her keyboard. Despite
being in a music program, her rhythm was
humour // no. 23
¢ Apparently Zoom teaches more than
academia
¢ What’s this week looking like for you?
..and that's everything!
Illustration by CJ Sommerfeld
comparable to Steve Martins’ in The Jerk and
had been searching for a good metronome
app to no avail. Without thinking, she
tapped on the metronome button. UH OH!
Instead of some subtle noise to assist in
keeping rhythm, an EDM-like melody nearly
ruptured the keyboard's speakers. Ina fury,
Yetterson began pushing different buttons
on her instrument to mute its dissonance,
eventually turning the keyboard off in its
entirety. As she looked up, her Zoom screen
read “The host has muted all participants,
click alt+shift to unmute yourself” The small
Zoom boxes which once exhibited the tops
of her classmate’s heads now displayed
wondering faces, some were smirking, others
collapsed in laughter behind their muted
screens.
Yetterson never did figure out how to
use the metronome knob on her keyboard.
She did, however, remember that putting on
pants was as important a step in the morning
as coming to class!
Edited Text
“@,
Co
CJ Sommerfeld
Staff Writer
VIC
What the Zoom?!?
» Apparently Zoom teaches more than academia
LN
Have an idea for a story?
M humour@theotherpress.ca
ATABATABATA! The sound of a
helicopter pierced Betty Yetterson’s
dream. In her half-dazed state, she
remained cocooned in her covers, relishing
in the ultimate fantasy of a dream which
she had just been woken from. An alternate
reality where students sat in class, on
campus, not social distanced, and—gasp,
maskless!
“FRICK?” Yetterson screamed,
remembering that on Tuesday mornings
she had MUSC 1106, a piano class—on
Zoom... of course. After a quick trip to the
toilet, she dragged her keyboard from its
usual dark corner across her apartment to a
better lit area. En route to the better lit area,
she stepped on the peddle, stumbling, but
thankfully catching her fall. She opened up
her laptop atop the table that she placed
next to her keyboard’s new location so that
her teacher could see her key-fingering.
See
ie anna eee
Once her chair, instrument, and laptop were
positioned in harmony, she clicked on the
class’ Zoom link.
Please wait until the host lets you in the
grey box read. “They're probably in breakout
rooms... fuuuuuck, I'll never be let in.” She
told herself, eyeing yesterday's leftover coffee
sitting on the kitchen counter. She waited
a couple more seconds before excusing
herself from her seat to grab the cold cup of
joe. Suddenly, she heard her teacher's voice
blaring from her laptop's internal speakers:
“Betty, youre late! And I’m talking to a chair”
Yetterson looked across the at her cracked
pleather chair, impersonating her presence.
She grabbed the cold cup, anxiously skipping
back to her seat.
Only when she saw the reflection of her
unshaved legs in the tiny Zoom box that read
Betty Yetterson did she realize that in her fury
to get to class, she had forgotten to put pants
on! Yetterson sat quickly, hoping to mask her
hairier than usual legs out of the frame. In
doing so, her quick motions jolted drips of
cold coffee onto her shirt. “Frick, what a slob!”
She thought to herself, hoping that her Zoom
square was not one the default squares that
was [showing] to her classmates.
“Before I put ya'll in ‘breakout rooms;
let's grab some manuscript paper and notate
Bethoven’s “Shepard’s Song.” Yetterson’s
manuscript paper was in her bedroom, which
was across her apartment. Looking down
at her skivvies, she reminded herself no can
do. She peered at each of her classmates
little Zoom squares. Each displayed an image
synonymous to one another: a keyboard or
piano, accompanied by the top of a head,
their eyes down notating the song which
the teacher had asked them to. Yetterson
blankly stared at her keyboard waiting for the
others to complete their task. She exposed
the top of her head to her camera, imitating
her classmates, pretending that she too was
completing the task.
She then noticed a button that read
metronome on her keyboard. Despite
being in a music program, her rhythm was
humour // no. 23
¢ Apparently Zoom teaches more than
academia
¢ What’s this week looking like for you?
..and that's everything!
Illustration by CJ Sommerfeld
comparable to Steve Martins’ in The Jerk and
had been searching for a good metronome
app to no avail. Without thinking, she
tapped on the metronome button. UH OH!
Instead of some subtle noise to assist in
keeping rhythm, an EDM-like melody nearly
ruptured the keyboard's speakers. Ina fury,
Yetterson began pushing different buttons
on her instrument to mute its dissonance,
eventually turning the keyboard off in its
entirety. As she looked up, her Zoom screen
read “The host has muted all participants,
click alt+shift to unmute yourself” The small
Zoom boxes which once exhibited the tops
of her classmate’s heads now displayed
wondering faces, some were smirking, others
collapsed in laughter behind their muted
screens.
Yetterson never did figure out how to
use the metronome knob on her keyboard.
She did, however, remember that putting on
pants was as important a step in the morning
as coming to class!
Co
CJ Sommerfeld
Staff Writer
VIC
What the Zoom?!?
» Apparently Zoom teaches more than academia
LN
Have an idea for a story?
M humour@theotherpress.ca
ATABATABATA! The sound of a
helicopter pierced Betty Yetterson’s
dream. In her half-dazed state, she
remained cocooned in her covers, relishing
in the ultimate fantasy of a dream which
she had just been woken from. An alternate
reality where students sat in class, on
campus, not social distanced, and—gasp,
maskless!
“FRICK?” Yetterson screamed,
remembering that on Tuesday mornings
she had MUSC 1106, a piano class—on
Zoom... of course. After a quick trip to the
toilet, she dragged her keyboard from its
usual dark corner across her apartment to a
better lit area. En route to the better lit area,
she stepped on the peddle, stumbling, but
thankfully catching her fall. She opened up
her laptop atop the table that she placed
next to her keyboard’s new location so that
her teacher could see her key-fingering.
See
ie anna eee
Once her chair, instrument, and laptop were
positioned in harmony, she clicked on the
class’ Zoom link.
Please wait until the host lets you in the
grey box read. “They're probably in breakout
rooms... fuuuuuck, I'll never be let in.” She
told herself, eyeing yesterday's leftover coffee
sitting on the kitchen counter. She waited
a couple more seconds before excusing
herself from her seat to grab the cold cup of
joe. Suddenly, she heard her teacher's voice
blaring from her laptop's internal speakers:
“Betty, youre late! And I’m talking to a chair”
Yetterson looked across the at her cracked
pleather chair, impersonating her presence.
She grabbed the cold cup, anxiously skipping
back to her seat.
Only when she saw the reflection of her
unshaved legs in the tiny Zoom box that read
Betty Yetterson did she realize that in her fury
to get to class, she had forgotten to put pants
on! Yetterson sat quickly, hoping to mask her
hairier than usual legs out of the frame. In
doing so, her quick motions jolted drips of
cold coffee onto her shirt. “Frick, what a slob!”
She thought to herself, hoping that her Zoom
square was not one the default squares that
was [showing] to her classmates.
“Before I put ya'll in ‘breakout rooms;
let's grab some manuscript paper and notate
Bethoven’s “Shepard’s Song.” Yetterson’s
manuscript paper was in her bedroom, which
was across her apartment. Looking down
at her skivvies, she reminded herself no can
do. She peered at each of her classmates
little Zoom squares. Each displayed an image
synonymous to one another: a keyboard or
piano, accompanied by the top of a head,
their eyes down notating the song which
the teacher had asked them to. Yetterson
blankly stared at her keyboard waiting for the
others to complete their task. She exposed
the top of her head to her camera, imitating
her classmates, pretending that she too was
completing the task.
She then noticed a button that read
metronome on her keyboard. Despite
being in a music program, her rhythm was
humour // no. 23
¢ Apparently Zoom teaches more than
academia
¢ What’s this week looking like for you?
..and that's everything!
Illustration by CJ Sommerfeld
comparable to Steve Martins’ in The Jerk and
had been searching for a good metronome
app to no avail. Without thinking, she
tapped on the metronome button. UH OH!
Instead of some subtle noise to assist in
keeping rhythm, an EDM-like melody nearly
ruptured the keyboard's speakers. Ina fury,
Yetterson began pushing different buttons
on her instrument to mute its dissonance,
eventually turning the keyboard off in its
entirety. As she looked up, her Zoom screen
read “The host has muted all participants,
click alt+shift to unmute yourself” The small
Zoom boxes which once exhibited the tops
of her classmate’s heads now displayed
wondering faces, some were smirking, others
collapsed in laughter behind their muted
screens.
Yetterson never did figure out how to
use the metronome knob on her keyboard.
She did, however, remember that putting on
pants was as important a step in the morning
as coming to class!
Co
CJ Sommerfeld
Staff Writer
VIC
What the Zoom?!?
» Apparently Zoom teaches more than academia
LN
Have an idea for a story?
M humour@theotherpress.ca
ATABATABATA! The sound of a
helicopter pierced Betty Yetterson’s
dream. In her half-dazed state, she
remained cocooned in her covers, relishing
in the ultimate fantasy of a dream which
she had just been woken from. An alternate
reality where students sat in class, on
campus, not social distanced, and—gasp,
maskless!
“FRICK?” Yetterson screamed,
remembering that on Tuesday mornings
she had MUSC 1106, a piano class—on
Zoom... of course. After a quick trip to the
toilet, she dragged her keyboard from its
usual dark corner across her apartment to a
better lit area. En route to the better lit area,
she stepped on the peddle, stumbling, but
thankfully catching her fall. She opened up
her laptop atop the table that she placed
next to her keyboard’s new location so that
her teacher could see her key-fingering.
See
ie anna eee
Once her chair, instrument, and laptop were
positioned in harmony, she clicked on the
class’ Zoom link.
Please wait until the host lets you in the
grey box read. “They're probably in breakout
rooms... fuuuuuck, I'll never be let in.” She
told herself, eyeing yesterday's leftover coffee
sitting on the kitchen counter. She waited
a couple more seconds before excusing
herself from her seat to grab the cold cup of
joe. Suddenly, she heard her teacher's voice
blaring from her laptop's internal speakers:
“Betty, youre late! And I’m talking to a chair”
Yetterson looked across the at her cracked
pleather chair, impersonating her presence.
She grabbed the cold cup, anxiously skipping
back to her seat.
Only when she saw the reflection of her
unshaved legs in the tiny Zoom box that read
Betty Yetterson did she realize that in her fury
to get to class, she had forgotten to put pants
on! Yetterson sat quickly, hoping to mask her
hairier than usual legs out of the frame. In
doing so, her quick motions jolted drips of
cold coffee onto her shirt. “Frick, what a slob!”
She thought to herself, hoping that her Zoom
square was not one the default squares that
was [showing] to her classmates.
“Before I put ya'll in ‘breakout rooms;
let's grab some manuscript paper and notate
Bethoven’s “Shepard’s Song.” Yetterson’s
manuscript paper was in her bedroom, which
was across her apartment. Looking down
at her skivvies, she reminded herself no can
do. She peered at each of her classmates
little Zoom squares. Each displayed an image
synonymous to one another: a keyboard or
piano, accompanied by the top of a head,
their eyes down notating the song which
the teacher had asked them to. Yetterson
blankly stared at her keyboard waiting for the
others to complete their task. She exposed
the top of her head to her camera, imitating
her classmates, pretending that she too was
completing the task.
She then noticed a button that read
metronome on her keyboard. Despite
being in a music program, her rhythm was
humour // no. 23
¢ Apparently Zoom teaches more than
academia
¢ What’s this week looking like for you?
..and that's everything!
Illustration by CJ Sommerfeld
comparable to Steve Martins’ in The Jerk and
had been searching for a good metronome
app to no avail. Without thinking, she
tapped on the metronome button. UH OH!
Instead of some subtle noise to assist in
keeping rhythm, an EDM-like melody nearly
ruptured the keyboard's speakers. Ina fury,
Yetterson began pushing different buttons
on her instrument to mute its dissonance,
eventually turning the keyboard off in its
entirety. As she looked up, her Zoom screen
read “The host has muted all participants,
click alt+shift to unmute yourself” The small
Zoom boxes which once exhibited the tops
of her classmate’s heads now displayed
wondering faces, some were smirking, others
collapsed in laughter behind their muted
screens.
Yetterson never did figure out how to
use the metronome knob on her keyboard.
She did, however, remember that putting on
pants was as important a step in the morning
as coming to class!
Co
CJ Sommerfeld
Staff Writer
VIC
What the Zoom?!?
» Apparently Zoom teaches more than academia
LN
Have an idea for a story?
M humour@theotherpress.ca
ATABATABATA! The sound of a
helicopter pierced Betty Yetterson’s
dream. In her half-dazed state, she
remained cocooned in her covers, relishing
in the ultimate fantasy of a dream which
she had just been woken from. An alternate
reality where students sat in class, on
campus, not social distanced, and—gasp,
maskless!
“FRICK?” Yetterson screamed,
remembering that on Tuesday mornings
she had MUSC 1106, a piano class—on
Zoom... of course. After a quick trip to the
toilet, she dragged her keyboard from its
usual dark corner across her apartment to a
better lit area. En route to the better lit area,
she stepped on the peddle, stumbling, but
thankfully catching her fall. She opened up
her laptop atop the table that she placed
next to her keyboard’s new location so that
her teacher could see her key-fingering.
See
ie anna eee
Once her chair, instrument, and laptop were
positioned in harmony, she clicked on the
class’ Zoom link.
Please wait until the host lets you in the
grey box read. “They're probably in breakout
rooms... fuuuuuck, I'll never be let in.” She
told herself, eyeing yesterday's leftover coffee
sitting on the kitchen counter. She waited
a couple more seconds before excusing
herself from her seat to grab the cold cup of
joe. Suddenly, she heard her teacher's voice
blaring from her laptop's internal speakers:
“Betty, youre late! And I’m talking to a chair”
Yetterson looked across the at her cracked
pleather chair, impersonating her presence.
She grabbed the cold cup, anxiously skipping
back to her seat.
Only when she saw the reflection of her
unshaved legs in the tiny Zoom box that read
Betty Yetterson did she realize that in her fury
to get to class, she had forgotten to put pants
on! Yetterson sat quickly, hoping to mask her
hairier than usual legs out of the frame. In
doing so, her quick motions jolted drips of
cold coffee onto her shirt. “Frick, what a slob!”
She thought to herself, hoping that her Zoom
square was not one the default squares that
was [showing] to her classmates.
“Before I put ya'll in ‘breakout rooms;
let's grab some manuscript paper and notate
Bethoven’s “Shepard’s Song.” Yetterson’s
manuscript paper was in her bedroom, which
was across her apartment. Looking down
at her skivvies, she reminded herself no can
do. She peered at each of her classmates
little Zoom squares. Each displayed an image
synonymous to one another: a keyboard or
piano, accompanied by the top of a head,
their eyes down notating the song which
the teacher had asked them to. Yetterson
blankly stared at her keyboard waiting for the
others to complete their task. She exposed
the top of her head to her camera, imitating
her classmates, pretending that she too was
completing the task.
She then noticed a button that read
metronome on her keyboard. Despite
being in a music program, her rhythm was
humour // no. 23
¢ Apparently Zoom teaches more than
academia
¢ What’s this week looking like for you?
..and that's everything!
Illustration by CJ Sommerfeld
comparable to Steve Martins’ in The Jerk and
had been searching for a good metronome
app to no avail. Without thinking, she
tapped on the metronome button. UH OH!
Instead of some subtle noise to assist in
keeping rhythm, an EDM-like melody nearly
ruptured the keyboard's speakers. Ina fury,
Yetterson began pushing different buttons
on her instrument to mute its dissonance,
eventually turning the keyboard off in its
entirety. As she looked up, her Zoom screen
read “The host has muted all participants,
click alt+shift to unmute yourself” The small
Zoom boxes which once exhibited the tops
of her classmate’s heads now displayed
wondering faces, some were smirking, others
collapsed in laughter behind their muted
screens.
Yetterson never did figure out how to
use the metronome knob on her keyboard.
She did, however, remember that putting on
pants was as important a step in the morning
as coming to class!