Omnibus

By Patricia Benitez

Adelina San Miguel is gripping a sledgehammer, her weapon of choice. In front of her, six glass plates sit on top of an oil drum.

“Just let it all out,” she thinks to herself.

She grits her teeth and pounds the sledgehammer against the plates, sending shards of glass flying and crashing onto the concrete floor.

“Oh yeah!” she yells with a smile flashing across her face.

The microwave is her next victim. She grabs it and slams it on the floor. She swings and pounds and thrusts the sledgehammer against it. Miley Cyrus’ cover of “Heart of Glass” blares to the beat of San Miguel’s throbbing pulse. Within minutes, the microwave resembled a flattened car in a junkyard.

The wooden walls around San Miguel are coated with red and black graffiti. She bounces around the small room, demolishing objects one by one, shattering Christmas ornaments, cracking a car windshield and smacking more plates with a bat.

The cacophony of shattering glass and clanging metal should make San Miguel cringe. But here, breaking things isn’t only allowed, it’s the objective.

Paying to Rage

San Miguel is in a rage room, a place where people pay to destroy items such as plates, televisions, windshields and more to unleash their anger or relieve stress. A rage room session can cost customers anywhere from $25 to $300, depending on how much time they want in the room and the number of objects they wish to destroy. Some people bring in their own items while others let the business owners provide them with the community’s donations of unwanted objects.

After putting on goggles, gloves and an industrial suit for protection, customers can choose from an arsenal of tools or “weapons.” Then, they destroy everything in the room. And the best part? No consequences and no clean up.

Rage Rooms: An Unproductive Outlet?

Jonathan Abramowitz, clinical psychologist and professor at UNC-Chapel Hill, had never heard of rage rooms until recently, but is open to the concept as a temporary stress reliever.

“It can’t hurt,” Abramowitz said. “It might make the person feel better in the moment, but it also doesn’t take care of the problem that’s causing the anger.”

For San Miguel, her decision to try a rage room was inspired by a conversation with her psychologist.

“I need to smash a microwave,” San Miguel said to her psychologist who later encouraged her to actually smash one in a rage room, which provides a safe and fun environment.

San Miguel felt as if the isolation during the pandemic had changed her in the same, forceful way that a sledgehammer disfigures a microwave. She was also experiencing heightened anxiety and frustration due to someone owing her money for weeks.

San Miguel is a pole vaulter, so she needed something more stress relieving than lifting weights in the gym. She figured that smashing objects with a sledgehammer for 30 minutes would be intense enough.

That’s when she booked a session at Wreck it Rage Room in Durham, North Carolina. Customers can play their own music in rage rooms, so she spent days adding motivational songs to her “Hard Hitters” playlist before her session.

Now, after 25 minutes of slinging the sledgehammer, her back muscles beg for mercy. But San Miguel isn’t done yet. She bangs her head to the beat of Childish Gambino’s “Bonfire” and puts a couple final dents in the microwave. Then she drops the sledgehammer, done with her session.

All that remains is a battlefield of smashed metal, shattered glass and an industrial jumpsuit soaked in San Miguel’s sweat.

As Abramowitz inferred, San Miguel knew her rage room session wouldn’t solve any of her problems. It didn’t put the money in her hand nor did it end the constant feeling of isolation during a pandemic. But in the moment, she felt light and euphoric.

“You will definitely see me again soon,” San Miguel said to Kasey Taylor, owner of Wreck it Rage Room.

An Unconventional Business Idea

When San Miguel left, Taylor and her two brothers cleaned up the debris with rakes and snow shovels. Taylor doesn’t mind cleaning up after her customers. She knows the importance of releasing anger without worrying about the mess.

After being on dialysis for six years and parenting as a single mom, Taylor longed for a way to psychically release her frustration. She’s not a talker when it comes to her emotions, so she tried a rage room and was fascinated with the concept.

“Where can you go to just shatter a bunch of plates and not get in trouble for it?” Taylor said.

After researching the logistics of owning a rage room, she opened her own. While some of her customers such as San Miguel book solo sessions, others bring their friends to collectively smash objects. Rage rooms can usually host as many as 10 people.

Rage Bringing People Together

Kate-Eliza Dean was invited to a rage room session with two of her friends on a Sunday afternoon. During the session, Dean’s friends stood back as she used a crowbar to smash a car windshield.

“Yeah girl, get it!” one of her friends yelled.

“Smash it!” the other added.

 She felt as if she was living her fantasy of destroying an ex-boyfriend’s windshield.

After they each took a turn hitting the windshield, they annihilated the white microwave together. The room began to smell of thick sweat and chaos.

“We’re women against microwaves!” Dean said. They all bursted into laughter as they attacked the microwave from all angles with their weapons.

When they finished, sweat and relief oozed out of them from every pore. “It’s like a level up from a workout,” Dean said, “Just a huge stress reliever.”

Whether people are breaking items solo or with a group, they can at least say they have demolished a microwave once in their lifetime.

“If you have never smashed a microwave,” San Miguel said, “It will change your life.”

Edited by Katie Bowes and Jorelle Trinity

 

By Alice Hayes

The Raleigh Market bustles to life well before 9 a.m. when it opens. Almost every Saturday and Sunday since the 1970s, vendors have laid out their goods on folding tables, blankets or permanent booths at the N.C. State Fairgrounds.

Then come the customers, as varied as the goods offered. Wearing everything from a raincoat, bulging with a dog snuggled inside, to a jean jacket emblazoned with an eagle and worn with a cowboy hat. Children rush with the same excitement and energy as their guardians, just a few feet lower. So much to see, so much to smell, so much to buy.

But it doesn’t matter if you’re a college student in hip clothes or an old man leaning resolutely on his walker. The flea market doesn’t judge — there’s no way it could. The vendors are as diverse in attitude and life experiences as the customers. The vendors have been here for months, years or even decades.

For some, the flea market is an addiction. For others, it’s just business. And for some, it’s about putting food on the table.

Jack

An American flag flies from a makeshift flagpole behind one of the vendors, Jack. He is 77, and he’s lived in North Carolina his whole life. Those years have made him bitter, like sweet tea left out too long. Wearing an old baseball cap and a thick jacket, he tends his booth, made up of mostly furniture: a grand old mirror, a red set of cast iron patio furniture, a solid wooden dresser.

The flea market has gotten worse with time, he said.

“People don’t spend the money on collectibles like they did 15, 20 years ago —nobody collects anything no more,” he said.

After Jack sold his first truckload at the flea market 28 years ago he became “addicted”. But he’s close to moving on.

“Two more years, then I’m a turn my saddle in,” he said.

In the back of Jack’s booth, there’s a picture of former president Donald Trump in a homemade frame perched on an easel. A cryptic caption declares it art regardless of whether the viewer think it’s good or bad. It’s unclear what Jack thinks of the picture.

Jack has help selling furniture from his “partner in crime,” Ray. Ray looks a little younger than Jack, but still has a worn face and said his last name is “not for sale”. He wears an ushanka, a fur cap with ear coverings, and he sits at a tiny table displayed with jewelry cases. Ray’s been helping Jack “on and off for 20 years”. Ray didn’t originally sell at the market. He started off as a customer — that’s how he met Jack.

Boss Barbee

Not everyone at the market is as dour as Jack. Boss Barbee, who sells tie-dye at the market, wears all tie-dye clothing, even down to the underpants, he said. He has a scruffy white beard and a jovial demeanor. All sorts of things — weed, crazy clothes — it’s all coming back into fashion, he said. He seems to like it that way.

He’s serious about his business. He keeps tie-dye business cards in a leather case in the pocket of his white jeans. The case isn’t tie-dye, but the jeans are. The jeans are 50 years old, with a few inches worn off the cuffs.

Barbee thinks people should do what makes them happy. Like the woman who bought tie-dye underwear from him. Or his mother and her boyfriend, who he rolled a joint for. He supports marijuana with the passion of a man who was never told the ’70s ended.

Debs Barton

Across the market, Debs Barton sits with her hands in her pockets behind a small wooden table. Barton has been selling here for 14 years, ever since she moved to North Carolina.

Every weekend, weather permitting, she drives from her home 70 miles away and unloads “about twenty-thousand pounds” of jewelry and antique hardware. She’s been selling jewelry for about four years and has been in the hardware business for about 25. Before that she worked with mantels and fences in Philadelphia.

Barton smiles sincerely and is excited by what she sells, especially the antique glass doorknobs.

“They made it with manganese, which gives it strength,” she said. “It’s too expensive now to do it, they won’t do it, they can do it, and it’s also the thing that allows a knob that’s clear to turn purple in the sun.”

Her tables are covered with plastic buckets and wood bins, but even that isn’t enough. Each table has another smaller table stacked on top with yet more piled on. On one set of tables each bucket or bin is dedicated to a specific category, such as doorknobs, hinges, drawer pulls, metal handles or another niche form of hardware.

Many of her wares are rusted, beaten down or otherwise look more like junk. Still, people need what she sells, and they know where to find her.

“They’ll try to match things,” she said. “I had a gal who bought a piece of furniture and she bought hardware.”

On the other table sits jewelry and “interesting smalls,” referring to the miscellaneous items found among the jewelry. And as to why she sells jewelry and hardware at the same booth?

“We have jewelry for your home, and jewelry for your body,” she said, with a laugh.

Jack, Boss & Debs

Everyone at the flea market is there looking for something. Doorknobs, furniture, customers, money.

The vendors and the customers all want something. And at first glance, it can be hard to tell them apart. Jack, Barbee or Barton could easily be mistaken for another customer slowly perusing through the piles of treasures.

Sometimes it’s easy, when the vendors sit behind their table or write prices on pieces of tape. Other times it’s harder, when the vendors stand by.

Just as aimless as their customers.

Edited by Maddie Ellis

By Brianna Atkinson

At the age of 15, Sydney Ross experienced what she recalls as a “flip the switch moment” in her high school’s library. As she sat studying in the mostly-empty library, two girls sat across from her. At first, Ross couldn’t understand why they decided to sit with her when there were plenty of other empty tables in the building but she now sees the moment as a sign from God. 

Unbeknownst to Ross at the time, the conversation between the two girls would ignite her passion for a project that would grow with her through high school and college. 

As Ross was studying, one of the girls told her friend how her sister, who just had a baby, was left by the baby’s father.

“What do you expect? All Black men leave their families,” the friend replied.

When Ross heard those words, she was immediately overcome with emotion. She couldn’t believe they felt comfortable saying that in front of her, a Black woman.

“I feel like it was God’s way of telling me this project is something that needs to be done,” Ross said. “My dad has been in my life for all 15 years of [it]. And both my grandfathers were in my parents’ lives their whole lifetimes as well. I wanted to combat that narrative. We are above these stereotypes.”

‘An Idea Was Born’

In 2016, Ross started an initiative called Change the Type, short for Change the Stereotype. The nonprofit shares uplifting messages about people of color to combat negative stereotypes in society. Now, it has grown into an LLC.

Although the impetus for her nonprofit started within the library of Garner Magnet High School, Ross took inspiration during her sophomore year in the personal project class. According to Middle Years Programme Coordinator Amy Bennett, the class is a student’s opportunity to focus on something they are passionate about.

“ I could see [Sydney’s] passion from the day she walked into my classroom,” Bennett said. “She seized the opportunity to take a project that was required, but she actually put her personal passion into it. To see that it has taken her this far in her life is pretty extraordinary.”

Ross’ initial plan was to do something related to dance, theatre, or Black history. But it didn’t feel right.

One day after school, Ross was sitting with her grandparents watching the evening news, and story after story after story was infused with negativity. People of color in jail, shooting, looting, mug shots and Ross thought, “That’s not who my people are. There’s more to us than that. I’m a Black woman but I’m not always angry, I’m not always loud, I’m not always mad at the world.” 

“I was like, what can I do to change that narrative?” Ross said. 

And Change the Type was born.

Ross, now 20, is a junior studying multimedia journalism at the North Carolina Agricultural and Technical State University. She works at the student-run A&T Register newsroom as the culture editor and loves to write feature stories. 

During her senior year at Garner High, Ross brought her love of journalism to Change the Type while enrolling in her school’s optional Diploma Programme.  

According to Career-related Programme Coordinator Gerald Siemering, what Ross did was unusual. Most students finish out their middle years project and move on to something different for their senior year, but Ross kept Change the Type as her senior project.

“Sydney was definitely an exception for that one,” Siemering said. “[She] was always very passionate in school and with community outreach.”

‘Through the Years’

Whereas her sophomore year project was about doing something she was passionate about, Ross’ senior year project focused on doing something that impacted the community. As an aspiring journalist, Ross knew that she wanted to bring some aspect of writing into her project and chose her favorite genre– features.

“I wanted to continue to make Change the Type grow,” Ross said. “We had the name, we had the message, we need people now.”

Her first “spotlight story” was on Malique Hawkins, a high school senior whom she met during N.C. A&T admitted student day. At 16, Hawkins founded a clothing company called The Movement Clothing to stand up against bullying, racism, suicide and violence. From there, Ross interviewed various youths who had started their own cosmetic lines, charities and even a 12-year-old who had designs in New York Fashion Week.

These spotlights were for the young people of color of Change the Type and had one simple goal – inspiration. 

“If they see people that look like them, around their age, maybe even go to the same school as them then it makes them believe ‘well okay, they’re doing it, so maybe I can make a difference in my community too,’” said Ross. 

‘Change the Type during the Pandemic’

Ross’ work with youth in her community didn’t stop when she entered her senior year of high school. Before school started again last August, Ross donated school supplies to other nonprofits and East Garner Magnet Middle School, a school she attended when she was younger. 

She also donated 50 Change the Type themed drawstring bags filled with face masks, paper, pencils, pens and other school supplies to two community centers. Each bag was designed by hand using her mother’s Cricut machine and had an image of a shining light bulb.

“I wanted them to have that idea that they are a light and to not let anyone’s opinion of them dim that light,” Ross said. “Don’t let anyone deter you from your goals and your dreams. Your light should shine whenever you walk into any room.”

Biltmore Hills Community Center Director Kenneth Lyons said Ross’ generosity helped parents get necessary supplies for their children during the COVID-19 pandemic so they could have a positive start to the school year. 

“It was a financial relief. School supplies are expensive,” Lyons said. “Everything she did, it’s been very impactful on the community and for the kids… especially with her being a former [summer camp] counselor.”

Now in 2022, Ross is in the process of getting a tax-exempt 501(c)(3) status for Change the Type and is still thinking about how to expand its reach to even more people with her message. 

“It has grown beyond the four walls of Garner Magnet High School, but I would like to continue to see it grow,” Ross said. “We, as people of color, are doing tremendous things in our community. We can stand out. We can make a difference. We can impact others.”

Edited by Ellie Crowther and Simon Tan

By Rachel Crumpler

Will Gerstein is anxious and exhilarated. His whole family flew in from Wisconsin to witness his big moment — what he spent countless hours of the past year working toward.

With emotions high, he’s thinking, “What if it doesn’t work, and I’ve just wasted a year?”

But he’s also confident that this is something Chapel Hill, specifically UNC-Chapel Hill students, need. Being a 21-year-old sophomore at the university, he would know first hand. 

What do all college students need? Late-night food to satisfy both savory and sweet cravings.

Gerstein’s pop-up restaurant, Buckets at Chapel Hill, provides just that. 

It’s 9 p.m. and customers start to arrive at Buckets. The public food hall with multiple vendors is located on Franklin Street outside the Blue Dogwood Market. Guests scan a QR code that takes them to an online menu, and they place their orders right from their phones.

Inside, Gerstein and his employees cook and assemble orders of chicken and waffles, boneless wings, chicken sandwiches, and waffle sundaes. Food is brought out hot in styrofoam boxes adorned with a sticker of a basketball net.

Some people take their food to go, while others stay and enjoy their food sitting at one of a dozen outdoor patio tables lit overhead by string lights. It’s an energetic environment with music, chatter, and laughter.

As long as the food is served promptly and customers are satisfied, Gerstein says even five orders a day is a success. But he has done a lot more orders than that. And in the weeks since opening, it’s only gotten better.

“Every single night is busier than the night before,” Gerstein said. “We are on a straight upward trend right now.”

Bringing his restaurant experience to Chapel Hill

From the day Gerstein got to campus in fall 2020, he dreamed of opening a restaurant in Chapel Hill. But this wouldn’t be his first venture in the food industry.

Behind Gerstein’s youthful face and smiley disposition is the experience and business acumen ordinarily seen in someone much older.

In his senior year of high school, Gerstein founded Bucket Wings in his home state of Wisconsin amid the pandemic. He got the idea for his business after he placed an order at his local pizza place and a worker told him it wouldn’t be ready for three hours — a long wait time driven by the COVID-19 shutdown of most restaurants in his small town. 

Gerstein decided to quit his minimum wage job at Subway to start a takeout centered wing joint using a few thousand dollars he had saved. He rented a commercial kitchen, which allowed him to tap into the marketplace demand.

Why chicken wings? Because it’s Gerstein’s favorite food, and he considers himself the “wing king.” Plus Buffalo Wild Wings, the closest wing restaurant, was a 40-minute drive away.

Now, he’s drawing from his prior experience running a restaurant to bring another late-night dining spot to Chapel Hill.

He started seriously pursuing the idea of opening a place in Chapel Hill toward the end of his freshman year. After being on campus, he realized how few late-night dining options existed. And the ones that did — Time-Out and Cosmic Cantina — did not satisfy his cravings for wings.

“I have a huge advantage because I am the target market,” Gerstein said. “I am a college kid. I am who I am selling to and that is why if I want something, usually it sells pretty well because every other college kid thinks kind of similarly.” 

Buckets exceeds the expectations

Gerstein hasn’t let his prior business success blind him from the harsh realities of opening a new restaurant. He says he is acutely aware that, “Franklin Street is where restaurants go to die,” particularly those without an established reputation.

The street’s high turnover rate has recently claimed restaurants like Ye Olde Waffle Shoppe, Lula’s, Lotsa Stone Fired Pizza, and Peño Mediterranean Grill. Determined to not have his venture become another lost restaurant, Gerstein created a very intentional plan for his business.

He put a year’s work into developing his menu, finding suppliers, designing the branding and marketing, and finding the perfect location. 

Most location options required a permanent, long-term lease with high rent rates. But then he discovered Blue Dogwood Market, which would allow him to use the same model he used in Wisconsin of renting out a commercial kitchen. 

One afternoon, last fall, on the outdoor patio, Gerstein met with Blue Dogwood Market owner, Sarah Boak, and presented his plan, a late-night pop-up that would operate from 9 p.m. to 1 a.m. three days a week.

After being sold by Gerstein’s competence, planning, and experience, Boak was immediately on board. Gerstein’s young age never concerned her. In fact, she was thrilled to provide an opportunity to a student entrepreneur and for the first student-run business at Blue Dogwood Market.

They worked out an arrangement for Buckets to operate at Blue Dogwood Market for a five-week trial period that began on Feb. 11.

“Buckets has been cool because it’s brought in brand-new clientele — a lot of students,” Boak said.

The past weeks have shown Gerstein there is demand for his food, and he’s seen a high customer return rate. Buckets fulfilled around 200 orders in one night, for an average of an order a minute — a pace Gerstein said his staff can keep up with and should expect as normal volume. 

Anjeline Lynch, a senior at UNC, has visited Buckets twice in two weeks and there’s still more on the menu she wants to go back for.

“I wish Buckets had been around for more of my college experience,” Lynch said.

Wings with a purpose

With the trial period nearly up, Gerstein plans to extend Buckets’ time at Blue Dogwood Market until the end of the school year and collect data to see if the demand remains stable. 

In addition to students, Buckets also has the support of a few UNC athletes participating in Buckets’ “Athlete Giveback Program,” such as sophomore field hockey player Kiersten Thomassey. 

Without knowing how successful Buckets would be, Thomassey jumped at the opportunity to use her name to give back when Gerstein approached her with the idea over winter break. For every buffalo chicken meal named after her that is sold, 8% of the revenue will be donated to Thomassey’s chosen charity.

Whether or not Buckets becomes a permanent restaurant in the fall, it does have the support of one particularly well-known figure, UNC men’s basketball coach Hubert Davis. Davis even agreed to have a Buckets meal named after him. Gerstein said Davis was the quickest to respond and said what Buckets was doing was incredible. Davis answered Gerstein within five hours of him sending a request for him to get involved, and before Buckets was even an official restaurant.

“If Hubert Davis believes in me, that says something, that means that I’ve got something good,” Gerstein said.

Edited by Sabrina Ortiz and Julia Rafferty

By Katie Bowes

 “I’m gonna go ahead and tell you what I did today!” said Cheryl Cavalier when she pulled up to her friend Kim Brann’s house on a July 2021 afternoon in Roxboro, N.C.

 Kim burst out in laughter when Cheryl told her what happened on the way to her house. 

 Steve Cavalier, Cheryl’s husband, met his wife at Brann’s house, and after hearing the story, shook his head as if to say, “Lord have mercy!” 

 Cheryl took them both around to the back of her truck to show them a little scratch on the bumper — she had run over the crosswalk sign in front of the Person County Public Library (PCPL). 

 Standing at the intersection of East Barden and South Main Streets is a 4-foot-tall neon yellow metal sign with a picture of a stop sign, a pedestrian figure and a message reading: “State law: Stop for pedestrians within crosswalk.”

 It’s hard to miss, yet it’s still covered in scratches and tire marks, and can occasionally be found lying on the side of the road after a bad run-in with a vehicle. 

‘Flopping in the air’

 On the day of the incident, Cheryl had exited onto West Barden after leaving Rolling Hills Garden Center. She was driving her husband’s Chevrolet Silverado, as opposed to her typical minivan. In the bed of the truck was a magnolia tree she had just bought as a birthday gift for Kim, her colleague at Libby’s Tax Service in Roxboro. 

 As she made her way onto East Barden Street, home to the parking lots for the PCPL, everything seemed normal. Cheryl turned the radio down so she could focus on driving.

 As she came to the stop sign on East Barden, Cheryl waited for any potential foot traffic with the crosswalk sign in sight, before confidently turning left onto South Main Street. She wasn’t thinking of the width of the truck she’s not used to driving — or the blind spots she’s not used to checking.  

At once, Cheryl could hear several loud thwacks coming from underneath her truck. It was the crosswalk sign hitting against the undercarriage, running the entire length of the truck. 

“Then as I look back, I see the sign flopping in the air after I hit it,” she said, “ and I said, ‘Okay well at least I didn’t break it all the way down.’” 

The sign is used to this kind of treatment. Roxboro City Manager Brooks Lockhart said the sign has been completely replaced, base and metal sign included, four times in the three years since it’s been installed, costing taxpayers around $2,300 overall. Lockhart has personally witnessed the crosswalk sign get hit by FedEx drivers on their way to the post office — he knows how the sign suffers. 

Roxboro resident and PCPL librarian Amber Carver said she doesn’t completely understand the need for the sign on South Main Street. The security cameras for the library also give view to that part of the road, meaning Carver has watched people brush, bustle or batter the sign several times in the almost three years she has worked there. 

Carver said she and her coworkers are confused as to why the sign is there in the first place, as that particular spot on South Main Street does not see much pedestrian traffic. 

“Most people aren’t mad about it,” said Carver, “Most people are just like, ‘Why is this even here?’” 

‘An effort to meet safety concerns’

Understanding what should be a straightforward sign is knowledge afforded to very few. 

The Roxboro City Council has the responsibility of defining speed limits, and collaborates with the North Carolina Department of Transportation to look at proper signage and upkeep for roads within the city limits.

However, traffic concerns are brought to the city council by citizens frequently, whether at in-person meetings or online. 

Roxboro City Council member Tim Chandler responded to comments on Person County resident Tim Bowes’ Facebook post about the crosswalk sign, where another resident, Janice Hall, said the sign was “stupid” and “not needed.”

Chandler said the sign was, “implemented to try and control speeding issues where children are often playing,” and was, “unanimously approved by city council in an effort to meet safety concerns that were presented by citizens.” 

South Main Street’s speed limit is already set at 20 mph, so after numerous complaints about speeding from residents, the city council voted on a traffic calming measure adapted from the Federal Highway Administration. Their policies recommend other options to promote safety when lowering the speed limit has been exhausted.  

One of the FHA’s first recommendations is to narrow a roadway. When drivers see a large, open road, they naturally speed up. A restriction placed in the roadway — like a crosswalk sign — can be a natural way to encourage drivers to slow down. In this sense, the sign serves two purposes.

Lockhart and the city council both said they have seen the number of complaints significantly decrease since its installation, even if it requires constant replacement. In their minds, then, the sign is still necessary.

Edited by Morgan Chapman and PJ Morales

 

By Zachary Crain

Tucked in a corner at the bottom of the Student Union at UNC-Chapel Hill are four tables.

Usually, students play pingpong here, if they’d like to rent a game. But now, a group of students play eight-play table tennis here, and they bring their own paddles.

A few more members sit in scattered chairs, partly watching while attempting to study with the backdrop of an entrancing show. Two more rest a few feet away from the courts, leaning against pool tables covered by well-worn green billiard cloth. 

This fluorescently lit corner is home to a team culture and community that differentiates itself from other club sports at UNC-Chapel Hill. 

At a predominately white institution, all but four of the 33 members of UNC-CH’s club table tennis team are Asian or Asian-American, with seven of them being Chinese international students.

One of the players, sophomore Warren Winfield, leans against a pool table and explains the rules of the game while he spoons away at a Frosty. In tournaments, they play games to 11 points — the best of five wins the match. But now, everything rests on a single game. 

When a game commences, slow contortions on the serve and return quickly evolve into rapid-fire instinctual reactions. Players pinch their paddles in a penhold grip – an Asian-style grip in which the player holds the racket with its head turned down – then back away from the table and spin the ball out of sight and onto their opponent’s side.

The atmosphere is simultaneously relaxed and competitive. Some games are filled with compliments and conversations, others with trash talk and animated reactions. All include laughter. 

“It’s definitely a unique culture, and it’s really hard to describe,” Jasper Ou, junior president of the club, said. “It’s just a nice way to de-stress. I know that some sports clubs are super intense about it, and I don’t think that was ever our goal.” 

Ou leans against a pool table and watches. When he disappears for a moment, a few players come over and make sure it’s known: 

“He’s the best player we have.”

Meet the players

Ou’s journey with the sport started during a 2006 visit to his grandparents in China on a day he was too young to remember.

His parents took his older brother, Jonathan, to a table tennis community center and he immediately fell in love with the sport. A few years later, Jonathan was competing in the Junior Olympics. However, Jasper’s approach to table tennis was more relaxed growing up, and it still is to this day.

“I didn’t ever practice a lot; it was mainly just my dad and my brother,” Ou said. “The passion came during COVID.” 

Ou said that since there wasn’t much else to do during the pandemic, they would unpack the table in the garage and play against each other.

Before he came to be president of the table tennis club, Ou transferred to UNC-CH after his freshman year. It wasn’t immediately clear that he would find an Asian-American community in Chapel Hill. 

“It’s definitely unique in that aspect; I think it’s really helpful,” Ou said. “I can’t speak on behalf of other Asian people, but I haven’t really found that large of an Asian-American community, so this is nice, honestly. That’s the best way I can put it.” 

Team member Yi Pan discovered the sport as a primary school student in China. When she arrived in Chapel Hill as a sophomore, some 7,000 miles away from her home in Shanghai, she wanted to find someone to play with. 

Pan joined the club team and found more than a few partners. 

“It’s cool, I didn’t expect to make American friends when I first came to UNC,” Pan said. “I thought that was very tough. We didn’t have much to talk about. But table tennis kind of united us.” 

At the nearest table, Daniel Xie is engaged in a battle with his friend and roommate, Daniel Wei. Xie didn’t practice much growing up, save for the odd game with his dad and sister, but in high school at the North Carolina School of Science and Mathematics, high-pressure games at community tables and on the club team created his obsession. 

“That competitive environment just got me into pingpong,” Xie said. “I would play three hours a day, not even exaggerating. I’d be in the pingpong room all the time trying to play, trying to get better. It was really fun for me. I liked to see that kind of improvement.”

Today, Xie is drawn to the sport by trick shots. For him, it’s an adrenaline rush seeing his work pay off.

He shows his improvement now while playing against Wei.

One shot lands and Wei falls down to the ground. Another one lands and Wei tells him just how lucky he is. A few more and Xie wins the match.

The club’s dynamic

One of the group’s shared memories includes the two-hour drive to Charlotte for the sectional tournament, some hours of table tennis and then taking three different cars back to campus. One of the groups stopped nearby for pizza while another drove to Cary so they could eat at a restaurant called Noodle Boulevard. 

On the way back, one group sang karaoke, another played road games and another slept. Each of them had woken up early, after all. Either way, the team said this is their favorite memory together.

It was during this same trip that Ou won the individual title and led UNC-CH to its first National Collegiate Table Tennis Association team championship in club history. 

At the end of February, there’s another road trip to look forward to: the regional tournament in Atlanta.

The most immediate realization upon journeying down to watch the club is the camaraderie and closeness between its members. In every strike and friendly taunt, point, given pointer and giggle, it’s there. 

Sometimes, they show their closeness by talking in the club’s GroupMe chat. Sometimes, in friendly banter and boasts after winning points. Sometimes, they show it just by hanging out, playing music, studying and talking in their locker room at the Student Union.

“You’ll usually find me here all the time,” Ou said. “You’ll find them all just hanging around here.”

For Ou, it isn’t clear exactly where it comes from. It could be from the group’s shared heritage or from the laid-back approach of the club. To him, some inexpressible aspect of the club is unique.

Edited by Casey Griffith and Nick Battaglia

 

By Brooke Dougherty

It’s been hours. Brielle Hassell’s right hand feels like it’s slowly turning to brass. She can’t pull her arm away from the doorknob despite how hard she wills it.

Her thoughts loop in an eternal cycle. Her brain tells her to open the door. But every time she tries, she feels like she’s doing it wrong. She must start from the beginning.

The world moves on around her, but Brielle stands frozen. She’s aware of her surroundings but trapped inside her mind. 

Brielle was only 11 years old during this catatonic episode when her obsessive-compulsive disorder reached a peak. She began exhibiting symptoms two years prior. 

Nobody saw it coming. She had always been a sweet and carefree child.

Even now, at 24, OCD is a part of Brielle’s daily life as a student at Berklee College of Music. Her journey to pursue songwriting has been riddled with setbacks.

But she has never shied away from a challenge.

The diagnosis

Mental health wasn’t heavily discussed in the mid-2000s and Brielle’s parents weren’t equipped to understand the severity of her symptoms. 

Brielle wasn’t properly diagnosed with OCD until she was 12.

“Most people believe [OCD] is essentially just being a little too perfectionistic or being a neat freak,” Brielle says. 

The reality is debilitating. OCD dictates the food she eats and regulates the length of her daily tasks. 

“As hard as it was not having anyone know about what I was dealing with, I almost find it worse for so many people to think they know what OCD is and not take it seriously,” she says.

To avoid being treated differently, Brielle’s fought to hide her diagnosis from prying eyes. 

But sometimes she wishes people understood its severity.

From a glance, you wouldn’t be able to tell that her OCD constantly affects her. 

She stands tall at 5’9 with baby-blue eyes. Her golden hair matches her favorite color, sunny yellow. Like many students, she loves black coffee. She perpetually strums her ukulele with ease. 

She’ll talk to you about being an avid Taylor Swift fan. Swift’s songwriting skill has always been a major source of inspiration to her. 

As she’s grown older, Brielle has learned to mitigate the severity of her episodes by creating mental hacks. She’s found that singing and writing music about her experiences make her diagnosis easier to digest. It came naturally to her, almost like breathing.

“My grandma says I was humming to melodies when I was still an infant,” she says. 

Brielle is aware that she lost literal years of her life that she’ll never get back.

To this day, she can’t quite relay what happened that time when she was in that peak unresponsive state. She knew people would talk about her. Some would even laugh. But she wasn’t able to form the words to explain herself back then. 

But she’s found the words and works to make each day a better one. The thing that’s always kept her going is music. It has become a much-needed avenue to express herself.

Betting on Berklee

“I think I want to audition for Berklee,” Brielle offhandedly mentioned to her mom, Karen, in the kitchen.

It was the spring of 2019. Music was on the backburner during her time at Wake Technical Community College. She attended classes during the day and looked for local open mic opportunities at night. Crafting her thoughts into lyrics gave her a sense of purpose. 

Brielle had considered transferring to music school for a while, but she didn’t want to get her hopes up.

“Are you sure you’re ready for that?” 

Karen was worried, a sentiment that most of the family shared.

With Boston being 700 miles away, Brielle wouldn’t have any friends or family nearby. The city is prone to freezing temperatures and snowstorms. The academic workload would be arduous. What if Brielle had a paralyzing episode and her family wasn’t there to help? 

Brielle admits their concerns had merit and that they meant well. Berklee is expensive and her musical abilities were self-taught. 

She had achieved a 4.0 during her community college career. But Berklee, thought of as the Harvard of music schools, was a whole different ballgame.

Self-doubt flooded Brielle’s mind. 

But what if it was her one chance to prove her commitment to pursuing music professionally?

With or without her family’s support, she knew she had to try. 

Brielle began preparing for her audition months in advance, working harder than she ever had before.

“I asked my mom if she would come with me to the audition,” Brielle says. “But I wasn’t sure if she would be available or see the importance of the event.”

Brielle’s determination was palpable as the audition date drew near. 

“I certainly didn’t want to set my daughter up for failure. But, I also didn’t want her to not chase her biggest dream out of fear and then have a lifetime of regret or wonder for not pursuing it,” Karen says.  

So, in November, Karen set aside her apprehensions and sat next to her daughter on a flight to Boston. 

The everyday fight 

Getting accepted into Berklee was only the beginning for Brielle.

While other students finish their work and meet up with friends, Brielle studies in the library until dusk. Her afternoons are spent practicing piano in the music room. She’s worked with the college’s Accessibility Resources to establish accommodations.

Nobody sees the late hours and vulnerable emails sent to her professors. She hopes they’ll understand that she is trying her best. 

Some days are better than others. 

Her grades have improved since her first semester, a testament to all her hard, patient work behind the scenes.

Breaking down doors 

Brielle often wonders what her life would have been like without OCD.

But she’s thankful that music has given her life a purpose. 

“It’s challenging up here, but the best things are. I’m constantly learning and growing,” Brielle says. “My goal is to graduate from here with a Bachelor [of Music] in songwriting. From there, I hope to become an established songwriter in the music industry.”

“It took a while for everyone to see my vision, but everyone’s been much more supportive and excited for me since seeing how well I’ve done.”

The odds may be stacked against her, but you won’t catch her wasting a single second. She does it all for the little girl frozen behind that door.

Now, when Brielle comes across doors she can’t open, she kicks them down.

By Caroline Bowersox 

If there’s one thing a college student loves, it’s a late-night meal. The beauty of greasy, salty, high calorie food after a long night of studying or bar hopping is unparalleled. In Chapel Hill most restaurants only stay open until midnight, leaving UNC-Chapel Hill students hungry when 2 or 3 a.m. rolls around.

One restaurant may exist as a beacon of hope. Cook Out is a North Carolina-based fast-food chain with a drive-thru that stays open until as late as 4 a.m. on weekends. So tired from studying for hours in Davis Library that you can’t fathom cooking a meal for yourself? Cook Out has your back! Tired of rushing to Cosmic Cantina before it closes at midnight and being stuck with eating another burrito? With an expansive menu offering hamburgers, chicken sandwiches, barbecue, quesadillas, wraps, many fried side dishes, and more than 40 different milkshake flavors, Cook Out has several options that can satisfy whatever your taste buds are craving. 

If only opening a drive-thru in Chapel Hill wasn’t so difficult.

Why isn’t there a Cook Out in Chapel Hill?

In 1998, Chapel Hill enacted an ordinance that barred new drive-thrus from being built without applying for the Special Use Permit beforehand.

Drive-thru restaurants have successfully been implemented in the Carraway Village shopping center and on Fordham Boulevard, but these locations are miles away from the university’s campus. According to Josh Mayo, a transportation planner for the town of Chapel Hill, it is unlikely that the town’s government will allow a drive-thru to be built in the 500 or lower block of Franklin Street, the section of the street that is closest to the campus.

“If I was going to put a fast food drive-thru on Franklin, that wouldn’t be in harmony with the area,” Mayo said. The town government values the walkability of Franklin Street, and putting in a drive-thru would disrupt that. 

The Special Use permitting process can take many years. The Dunkin’ Donuts franchise on East Franklin Street has been in the process with the Town Council to have its drive-thru plans approved since 2019.

 “It’s kind of long, it’s expensive, you have to get consultants and plans drawn up, and you have to have someone present in front of the council, and a lot of time and effort goes into it, so there’s a bit of a barrier there,” Mayo said.

As of 2021, there are no Cook Out locations in the entirety of Orange County, forcing Chapel Hill residents to travel into Durham (enemy territory!) for their late-night munchies fix.

“Bring Cook Out to Franklin Street!”

One night in the spring of 2018, Spencer Zachary was holed up in the library with some friends. The sophomore political science major was supposed to be studying for final exams, but instead he was focused on developing Chapel Hill’s next great business idea.

“I was just trying to pass an hour or two while studying,” Zachary said. That night, he created a Change.org petition titled “Bring Cook Out to Franklin Street!” 

“It kind of just started as a joke,” he said, “But every good joke starts with a little bit of inkling of truth that maybe it could actually happen.”

Spanky’s Bar and Restaurant, located at the intersection of Franklin Street and Columbia Street, had recently closed its doors, leaving a prime piece of real estate available just a short walk from campus. Zachary saw an opportunity to provide what many UNC-Chapel Hill students had long yearned for: a walk-in Cook Out.

Zachary didn’t expect his petition to get many signatures. But as the semester went on, the petition amassed over 1,500 signatures. Students commented things like, “Now this is the change we all need,” and “Every college campus needs a Cook Out.”

After his petition picked up steam, Zachary was featured on the Carolina Insider podcast. Eventually, Cook Out, Inc. got word of the petition and posted about it on Twitter.

At the heart of it all was a nostalgia seeking, small town kid from Western North Carolina. “In the town that I grew up in, it was almost like going to Cook Out was a small event,” he said, “Everyone would pile in a car and we would go get Cook Out.”

Considering that Cook Out is special to the state of North Carolina, it is difficult to see why UNC-CH doesn’t have its own location.

 “It’s definitely a part of North Carolina lore that the big three restaurants are Cook Out, Bojangles, and Krispy Kreme,” Zachary said, “It’s like the Holy Trinity.”

A relationship built on milkshakes

When Emma Smith was a sophomore at UNC-CH, she and her best friend made a habit of staying up into the wee hours of the morning to study. After combing through page after page of biology homework, the two had a tradition to drive into Durham, for Cook Out milkshakes. Smith would always mix-and-match the flavors to make a chocolate banana pudding milkshake, and they would sit and talk for hours.

“Cook Out is sort of a liminal space,” Smith said, “That combination of talking with your best friend and being there late at night makes time fly by so fast.” 

After a year or two of making regular Cook Out trips together, the pair started dating, and have been together for three years now. Smith frequently jokes with her partner about the times they talked for hours over milkshakes in undergrad. “We should’ve known we were supposed to be together,” she said.

Smith’s relationship status has changed since her nightly Cook Out trips sophomore year, and her milkshake order has been updated too. “I get a caramel Butterfinger shake now,” she said, “The flavor is a game-changer for me.”

Edited by Katie Bowes and Jorelle Trinity

By Zachary Crain

Tucked in a corner at the bottom of the Student Union, down a few sets of stairs or a 2 o’clock turn just past Wendy’s, sit four tables.

Usually, students are able to rent a table and play ping pong here. But today, eight students brought their own paddles.

A few more sit in scattered chairs, part-watching while half-attempting to study with the backdrop of an entrancing show. Two more students rest a few feet away from the courts, leaning against pool tables covered by well-worn green billiard cloth.

This fluorescently lit corner is home to a team culture and community that differentiates itself from other club sports at UNC.

Despite being at a predominately white institution, all but four of the 33 members of UNC’s club table tennis team are either Asian American or Asian, and seven are Chinese international students.

One of the players, sophomore Warren Winfield, leaned against a pool table and spooned away at a Frosty while explaining the rules of the game. In tournaments, they play games to 11 — the best three-games-of-five wins the match. But now, everything rests on a single game.

When a game begins, slow bends on the serve and return quickly evolve into rapid-fire instinctual reaction. Players pinch their paddles in a penhold, back away from the table, and spin the ball out of sight and onto their opponent’s side.

The atmosphere is simultaneously relaxed and competitive. Some games are filled with compliments and conversations, others with trash talk and animated reactions. All games include laughter.

“It’s definitely a unique culture, and it’s really hard to describe,” junior Jasper Ou, the president of the club, said.  “It’s just a nice way to de-stress. I know that some sports clubs are super intense about it, and I don’t think that was ever our goal.”

After Ou chomps down on a Wendy’s chicken sandwich and disappears for a moment, a few players come over and make sure it’s known:

“He is the best player we have.”

From playing abroad to UNC

Ou’s journey with the sport started on a day he was too young to remember in 2006, on a trip to visit his grandparents in China.

His parents took his older brother, Jonathan, to a table tennis community center, and he immediately fell in love with the sport. A few years later, Jonathan was competing in the Junior Olympics. But compared to now, Ou’s approach to table tennis was much more relaxed growing up.

“I didn’t ever practice a lot, it was mainly just my dad and my brother,” Ou said. “The passion came during COVID. We just couldn’t really do anything outside, so we just unpacked the table in the garage and played with each other.”

Yi Pan discovered the sport as a primary school student in China. When she arrived in Chapel Hill as a sophomore more than 7,000 miles away from home in Shanghai she just wanted to find someone to play with.

Pan joined the club team and found more than just a few partners.

“It’s cool, I didn’t expect to make American friends when I first came to UNC,” Pan said. “I thought that was very tough, we didn’t have much to talk about. But table tennis kind of united us together.”

On the nearest table, Daniel Xie is engaged in a battle with his friend and roommate, Daniel Wei. Xie didn’t practice much growing up, except for an occasional game with his dad and sister. But in high school at the North Carolina School of Science and Mathematics, high-pressure games at a community table and on the club team sparked his obsession.

“That competitive environment just got me into ping pong,” Xie said. “I would play three hours a day — not even exaggerating. I’d be in the ping pong room all the time trying to play, trying to get better. It was really fun for me, I liked to see that kind of improvement.”

Today, he’s drawn to the sport by trick shots, which are “crazy-ass” moves in the middle of the point.  Xie said it’s an adrenaline rush seeing his work pay off and inching him closer to being the best.

You can see it now as Xie plays against Wei.

One shot lands and Wei falls down on the ground. Another one lands and Wei tells him just how lucky he is. A few more, and Xie wins the match.

Ou transferred to UNC after his freshman year, and it wasn’t immediately clear if he’d find an Asian American community in Chapel Hill.

“It’s definitely unique in that aspect, I think it’s really helpful,” Ou said. “I can’t speak on behalf of other Asian people, but I haven’t really found that large of an Asian American community, so this is nice, honestly. That’s the best way I can put it.”

The team’s special bond

The closeness of the club’s members is immediately obvious when watching them play together. In every strike, friendly taunt, point, given pointer, giggle and Wendy’s product eaten — you can see the closeness is there.

One of the special shared memories the players have is their journey to Charlotte, North Carolina for the sectional tournament. The drive consisted of two hours driving down, three different cars, and many hours of table tennis. One hour was spent stopping nearby for pizza and another driving past Chapel Hill and down to Cary, North Carolina because Ou wanted to eat at a restaurant called Noodle Boulevard. In some cars people were singing karaoke, others were playing road games and others were sleeping. 

Winfield said this tournament road trip brought the players closer together. 

“Got to meet a lot of new people and bond with the people,” Winfield said.

All the players say this road trip is their best memory with the team.

During the trip, Ou won the individual title at the tournament and led UNC to its first National Collegiate Table Tennis Association Carolina Division team championship in club history.

At the end of February, there’s another road trip to look forward to — this time to the regional tournament in Atlanta, Georgia.

Sometimes, the players reveal their closeness by talking in the club’s GroupMe chat. Other times it’s found in the friendly banter and boasts after winning points. Sometimes, they show it just by hanging out, playing music, studying, and talking in their locker in the Student Union.

But always, that closeness is there.

For Ou, it isn’t clear exactly where it comes from. It could come from the group’s shared heritage, or maybe their laid-back approach. To Ou, some impossible-to-put-your-finger-on aspect of the club is that it feels special, just unique.

“You’ll usually find me here all the time,” Ou said. “You’ll find them all just hanging around here. I think it’s really nice, actually, that we can all just have a place that we can all just collectively hang out in. I don’t know. I think it’s just really nice.”

Edited by Sabrina Ortiz and Julia Rafferty