Even Teachers Love “Stuy Crying Corner”


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By Joanna Meng

“School counselors, parents, and students alike have campaigned extensively for this service,” Principal Yu proclaimed in a weekly e-mail a few weeks ago, “so we are proud to finally present the Stuyvesant Mental Breakdown Vicinity.”

The aforementioned vicinity, now commonly referred to as the “Crying Corner,” has been the most successful implementation to our school campus since the Valentine’s Day Cuddle Puddle. In short, the room includes speakers constantly playing emo music and Taylor Swift, multiple (regularly sanitized) Squishmallow plushies, and a giant bean bag chair for falling onto when experiencing emotional distress. Occasionally, there is also a stock of all sorts of bright hair dye for anyone to use while suffering an existential crisis! Janitors have expressed relief at no longer needing to mop up tears outside of the college office thanks to the room’s built-in drainage systems, and teachers have noted a decline in muffled sobs coming from the corners of rooms during DBQ sessions. Students themselves have claimed that this room has consolidated a good portion of their hormonal stress breakdowns into one convenient place. The room is, as one student put it, “a way to cry over my AP math test without my smart nerd friends calling it a skill issue.”

Since the room’s creation two weeks ago, attendance has reached such unprecedented numbers that “depression monitors” have been hired to keep the room below max capacity. These monitors, often freshmen in Honors Algebra II (due to their statistically proven resilience to emotional drainage), have refused to disclose any of the juicy details of the room, apparently having sworn a blood oath to maintain confidentiality for everyone from the smallest freshman to the tallest college applicants. Unfortunately, the use of room monitors sometimes means kicking a crying student out a bit too early for comfort to accommodate the frankly concerning line of the emotionally challenged trailing the room.

However, students who happened to be in the right place at the right time have seen teachers sneaking off to the room themselves. “I was walking back to my locker the other day, and saw Mr. [REDACTED] bribe a monitor to let him use the Crying Corner,” a source informed us. “I really didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but honestly, those walls are thinner than they should be.” The source proceeded to describe muffled mentions of a class test average of 56, an Among Us fanfiction being turned in instead of Cornell notes, and general sobbing. Then, as abruptly as he had shown up, the teacher left the room precisely 10 minutes later, as though crying was supposed to be scheduled into the day. Students of that teacher have attested that the class average for the last unit test was, in fact, a 56 due to what can only be described as indefensible illiteracy on their part. Thus, we can see the room’s practical applications to healthy emotional outlets for the widely varying circumstances. The alternative would be to pull the “never in my 30 years of teaching…” speech, and no one likes that speech.

The most shocking outcome, however, still topped this. One investigator threatened a room monitor into giving us the juiciest, most groundbreaking piece of evidence for the Crying Corner’s usefulness. Details of the threat remain undisclosed, though the Hudson staircase was indubitably a part of it. “I’ve seen Principal Yu go in there. He sneaks in during fire drills and fourth period.” the monitor said. “I’m not sure what he cries about. Occasionally I can hear words, but all I've gotten over the past semester is ‘world domination,’ ‘Seung!,’ ‘why no BTS comeback,’ and ‘aren’t the kids here supposed to be gifted?’ He’s a deep man with complex emotions. We just let him be.”

There you have it, folks. The Crying Corner is an infinite success, as per our good ol’ captain himself. One might wonder if the room’s funding was also a personal indulgence to lament over the notable lack of a self-produced K-pop masterpiece such as the song “Black Swan” in 2022. Regardless, it is a home to many students experiencing imposter syndrome and students thinking that their crush saying no to Wednesday BOGO froyo is the ultimate heartbreak. The room will continue to be an asset to the needs of our community, especially during notable international moments of sadness.*

*Usage peaked on SAT day, Valentine’s Day, and, for some reason, Pi Day. Correlation unknown.