Homecoming 2022: Taxidermied animals, “Good ‘ol turquoise,” 30-year-old Pepsi cans, and meeting the Chancellor
Sofija Matonis
January 5, 2023
The Field Museum, Friday, November 18th. . . the temperature was expected to reach a low 21 or worse, like walking through a snow globe filled with arctic water; UIC students in dresses, suits, and at least one in a leotard danced the night away or strolled eerie Museum exhibits while we ran amok hassling unexpected persons for interviews, for details, for posterity. No one was safe as long as we held the notepads. An experiment in journalism–observations first, coherence later.
The museum’s main hall was bathed in lights: orange sauropod, blue and pink tiles, and yellow arches which shifted to purple and back again on the second-floor balconies. It was sometime after 7:30 PM, and no one was yet on the dance floor. The music was at a reasonable volume, and I figured it had to do with the size of the museum and the fact that such massive vibrations might rattle the artifacts in their cases.
As students arrived from bus shuttles, I located my friend Milo, who described himself best when complaining to me later in the evening about an unwanted admirer.
“I can’t help that I’m so sexy and endearing,” said Milo.
The informational email promised us “meals and refreshments,” so Milo and I made for the food tables. Our choices consisted of potato or tortilla chips in plastic bags and sealed pico de gallo or guacamole. The dessert table offered micro red velvet cupcakes, chocolate or white chocolate-coated cheesecake pops with sprinkles, and cookies. Water was housed in plastic tubs wrapped in black tablecloths to conceal the Gatorade logos. Trash cans were nowhere to be found, appeared an hour later, and vanished again.
“These chips are king,” I said, dipping them in artificially colored pico de gallo.
Milo regretted skipping dinner.
We tentatively entered “Native Truths,” one of the two exhibits advertised on the banners hanging outside. We were uncertain if we could go in until we were encouraged by the sight of a girl in a green dress, a hand-in-hand couple, and a janitor wheeling his cart toward the exit. After they passed us, we never saw them again. The lights were dim as we appreciated wood carvings arranged in a maze of glass cases and dark wood.
“Damn,” said Milo behind me, “I swear I saw that thing move. Be careful.”
Prerecorded disembodied children’s voices passed over our heads. The exhibit was conspicuously deserted, and we thought we’d never reach the exit.
Students posing for pictures on the curving main stairs temporarily delayed our run to the second floor, where we found the Hall of Gems. Among the necklaces, stones, and gold coins was the unexplained presence of a white-haired man in a suit and his classy wife, as well as two guys in sweatshirts. I figured the man was some kind of connoisseur and the guys were underdressed. Hoping for clues, we hung in front of a case featuring an Indian ceremonial knife with a green horse head as a handle. We drifted away as the man and his wife stopped in front of the same case. The woman said, apropos of nothing, “Good ol’ turquoise.”
After several glances, I noticed the man had a UIC pin on his lapel. It was then I knew we must interview him, but before we could get the guts, we would need practice. We entered another exhibit to hunt down suitable subjects.
The first thing I saw through the entrance was a couple hugging tenderly as they gazed upon a taxidermied bird, which made me laugh out loud. We later saw couples wandering romantically through a plastic forest with mirrored walls, probably the most romantic scene in any exhibit, but a stuffed bird…?
We encountered the group we’d arrived with at a beach exhibit. One guy asked why I was scribbling on a pad of yellow sticky notes, which I’d been doing since I got on the bus shuttle.
“I’m practicing my journalism,” I replied as I had to everyone else who asked. Then he got the idea that I should describe the beach as if I was on a real one, giving me lines about smelling the salty air.
“That’s. Not. Journalism!” I said. He looked offended.
The most surreal exhibit was set up like a town. Plastic cutouts of teens stood in a row with a table of red buttons to hear their prerecorded voices. Milo hit the Claude button, then tried to whack all of them, but they only spoke one at a time. In one storefront lay a fashion magazine with a 1992 copyright. Milo nodded me over from a white table in a diner. Behind the plastic counter of the pseudo-establishment were dated Pepsi cans, bottles of Perrier, and plastic fruits. Aggressive prerecorded car honkings continued over the exhibit’s speakers while the diner music’s loop faded out and restarted.
“This is from the 90s,” said a student in a suit who had been listening in. He recited the years he’d seen in various places and implied the Pepsi bottles might be worth something. I looked at the Heinekens next to them, and said, “If we break the glass…”
Cha Cha Slide swelled in volume as we reemerged and gazed over the balcony at the crowd now following the dance in neat lines. One of Milo’s friends popped up, obviously having a good time. His ticket came free–won in a giveaway a week prior to the event. Apparently, so had Milo’s. Choosing not to think about my paid $44.06 ticket, we stopped by the DJ table, positioned in front of a case displaying a big fish, probably taxidermied. His station was littered with a bitten cake pop and a cupcake wrapper from the snack tables. I felt the DJ deserved his own catered meal, but it would have likely inspired envy in the students.
A montage of interviews with unsuspecting students followed. Someone had gone to homecoming last year, someone had heard about it from the Center for Student Involvement, someone had read it on Instagram, and someone had heard about it from their roommate, who then vanished, leaving them alone in the plant exhibit. One student, Estefany, whom we confronted with her boyfriend (who soon fled) was neutral about the food but thought it was worth the money. Her ticket was also won in a giveaway.
The opinions of a pair of friends varied slightly. Was it worth the money?
Sam L. said it was “too early to tell.” But she liked the DJ. Her friend disagreed: the DJ played good songs but faded them into the next one too soon.
At the far end of the second floor, a guy in a red tie stood guard cross-armed outside the bathroom until his girlfriend walked out. Then he placed his jacket on her shoulders. A woman blocked us from going downstairs, informing us that the homecoming court was being announced. We watched from the balcony, but couldn’t understand a garbled word coming through the speakers as the court smiled under the spotlights. We soon lost patience.
We’d had enough student interviews, it was time to corner the white-haired man and make him talk. We rushed into an exhibit. The first thing I saw was a boyfriend patting his girlfriend on the butt of her plaid skirt to signal them to move along.
At this point, so much had happened that to me it seemed like time had stopped functioning.
“Time has no consequence here,” I said.
“It’s only 10:44,” said Milo.
We blundered into the next exhibit, but the search seemed hopeless. A girl walking out from another room with her boyfriend pulled up the front of her pink dress to adjust it, not expecting to run into anyone.
Downstairs, hundreds of students danced to classic pop hits. I noticed my RA had patted the back of a suited man in glasses sporting a red UIC pin, after a friendly conversation. If my RA knew him, the man had to be important. He and his wife were stopped by a photographer. After the flash, we approached.
“I saw you got your picture taken,” I began, and asked him for an interview over the music.
The man leaned over politely and said he couldn’t hear me. “I have laryngitis,” he said, “Let’s go over there.”
He led us well into the mouth of an exhibit before sharing his enthusiasm about being here with the students. When advertising UIC, he told us, the school doesn’t show prospective students this side of the experience. Milo asked him what member of UIC’s staff he was.
“I’m the Chancellor and Provost,” he said.
Chancellor and Provost Javier Reyes has served as interim chancellor since July 1st, and was proud of this year’s Homecoming, saying it enabled students to meet each other and socialize.
“No university has this,” said Reyes, who explained that none of the four other universities he had worked for had a Homecoming.
Milo and I hung around the stairs, me trying to convince Milo to go up and ask a member of Homecoming Court for an interview, but he refused because he said he was afraid of people like that. A photographer asked us for a photo. After that it was too late; they were back to pictures on the stairs.
A pyramid of red mesh bags containing stacked flip-flops was on a table beside us. An organizer for the event told us they were free for the taking for any guest whose feet hurt. Last year’s homecoming, UIC’s first, she informed us, was held at Navy Pier. She said this homecoming was better than the last one.
“Not ‘better,’” she corrected herself. Last year the tickets were free, she said, due to the pandemic. Then she eyed us with suspicion and asked who we worked for.
We joined the line for the 360 pictures, a photo op consisting of a platform with a camera ready to spin around students posing with props of their choice. Milo spotted a member of Homecoming Court ahead of us wearing the distinctive gold-lettered sash. Ashita Cyashwa was happy to explain the process of getting on Homecoming Court: a long application from the Student Advisory Board, the organization which planned Homecoming, followed by an interview. Cyashwa is involved with multiple organizations and expects to graduate next year with a double major in Biological Sciences and Integrated Sciences after only two years at the university. A prime candidate. The role required no responsibilities except showing off, said Cyashwa. On homecoming week, those chosen were told it would be appreciated if they attended as many events as possible.
“It shows the grace of UIC,” said Cyashwa.
Milo had faced his fears. Cyashwa was so nice to us that we felt guilty for being entirely inept at finding Bonfire’s Instagram for her, in case the interview appeared there.
The lights turned on, a woman informed us the 360 photo op was canceled and I pieced together that the whole dance must have been over, which meant it was midnight. The tables were stripped bare and the leftover chips were gone. I put on my flats and joined the line for retrieving coats.
Having lost my coat check ticket, a confusing interaction with the personnel ensued where they held up one wrong coat after another. A woman told me to take my boots off the table, where I’d temporarily thrown them. Milo stepped ahead to get his letterman jacket with ease. They let me grab my belongings myself when I spotted them hanging in a back corner.
Those leaving possessed shuttle passes reading B1 through B20. Milo struck up a conversation with a nearby student. Claire, a Field Museum regular, felt the $40 was worth it since ordinary museum tickets were priced at $30 and Homecoming included food and free transportation. Seated opposite Milo was a girl leaning her head against the wall, looking nauseous or otherwise unwell, her friend holding a cup of water below her nose.
In the next wave of departing students, I swiped a shuttle pass off the floor before noticing they were being handed out. A bus took off without us, leaving us cursing until ours arrived a minute later. I plunked down on my black leather seat and spotted a member of Homecoming Court outside with a friend. I loathed to think they might be walking home. After all, the event details denied the possibility of free parking.
Suddenly most of the passengers were chanting goodbye to a guy stepping off with a wave. I wondered if my pass was a spare nobody was supposed to pick up, forcing him out because the bus was full.
But I didn’t care either way. Our time was well spent, and I was not remotely exhausted when we were deposited before Courtyard, left to the elements, and 15 minutes walking distance from our desired dorm. Milo and I struck up a song about the brutal cold and carried it homeward until we reached the comfort of a warm lobby.
– Sofija Matonis
