Sex in Geneseo: Lauderdale now offering sterilization in collaboration with Claire’s
Photo courtesy of Anna Shvets / Pexels
Real picture of a brain after being tested and tortured at the new Geneseo clinic.
Written By Carrie Bradshaw
Dear Miranda,
We’ve all seen the memes and testimonies about Claire’s Piercing and Jewelry store, but I’m here to tell you— it’s true. Back in 2021, a business representative met with the former Dean of Students to solidify a partnership between Claire’s and the Lauderdale Health Clinic. We attempted to contact the former Dean of Students, but they are happily retired. When we interviewed the current Lauderdale staff about the new deal, they remained silent.
On Wednesday, Mar. 5, 2023, the College released a statement in the Geneseo parent Facebook group, announcing that, starting in the fall semester of 2025, Lauderdale’s Sexual Health Center would be properly insured to cover the cost of sterilization for students and faculty. The same statement appeared on the Geneseo website, highlighting the importance of a woman’s choice and autonomy over her body.
If the deal was made in 2021, why is it only now going into effect? How did Geneseo manage to keep this under wraps, hidden from students? The normaL requested a tour of the new sterilization rooms, but the college denied our request, claiming they were not yet ready to give proper tours of the new space.
So, we took matters into our own hands. We broke into Lauderdale after hours to investigate!
The process behind our research was not as difficult as you’d think. It all started on Main Street. It was a Tuesday afternoon, and Nate —the Editor-in-Chief— had invited me for a lunch special at Mamma Mia’s. You know, I couldn’t resist. Mia’s always smells like burnt pizza, making me wonder if the fire alarm is about to go off, but pizza is pizza— you can’t mess that up. Part of me wonders why Nate always buys me pizza. I’m more of a Cosmic Charlie’s kind of girl— find me with a Cardamommy any day.
Anyway, we were brainstorming ways to draft an email to gain access to the new sterilization room. We wanted to confirm if it was real. The rumor mill had been buzzing— some faculty members even claimed that lobotomies were next on Lauderdale’s agenda —but Lauderdale ignored my emails. Maybe, however, they refused to accept that the Carrie Bradshaw was requesting such information. This made me wonder: Things are better accomplished in person, so why not just go to Lauderdale?
Nate and I left Mamma Mia’s and headed down the hill to the clinic, but when we reached the clerk’s desk, she told us the clinic was actually located in Onondaga now— for “patient privacy.” Defeated, I almost gave up. I mean, this was a good story, but I wasn’t about to break into a freshman dorm— I’d go viral on Yik Yak.
But Nate— poor Nate —I saw the crazy in his eyes. We were so close to cracking this case that he could almost taste it. We had no choice. We had to hike to South Side.
I hadn’t been to that side of campus in over a year. Let me give you some background— I never lived on South Side. I’ve always been a North-Side-girl. Maybe God knew I was too preppy to live in a building full of freshmen. I like my men a little older, so it would’ve never worked. Of course, I’d visited South Side— the bus driver kicks me off at the Wayne bus stop sometimes on weekends when he’s tired of the drunk frat boys singing church hymns in the back of the bus.
We made it, but the office was closing in five minutes. We asked the receptionist if she could show us the sterilization room, but she refused. While using their bathroom, I discreetly pulled a shoe from my backpack and propped open the clinic’s back door. Nate and I bid our farewells and exited the Onondaga clinic.
Now, I will say the next part is in secret, in hiding. I can’t tell you exactly how we broke into the computer system— we just did.
The most shocking part? The location of the sterilization room. It wasn’t inside the clinic— it was actually a freshman dorm room. On the receptionist’s desk, we found floor plans for all Lauderdale-owned spaces, and boy, were they revealing. Lauderdale owned several dorm rooms and paid 4,000 dollars in rent to the college every year.
Not satisfied, Nate wanted more. “We have to go inside,” he said— overachiever, honestly.
As we left the clinic around 6:30 pm, we were stopped by a resident assistant. She had oval glasses and dark, curly hair. That’s when it hit me— the last piece of the puzzle.
“I’m locked out of my room, and my roommate’s in the lab right now.”
She asked for my Geneseo ID, grabbed the keys from the office, and— imagine me grinning like the Grinch —unlocked the door. Eyes smizing, smirk smirking— we did it.
She asked if we needed anything else. I thanked her graciously, promising to repay her in Oreos. Then she left, never twisting the doorknob, never looking back. Not my fault.
Nate and I took a deep breath. We prepared ourselves for what lay behind the door. Would we find vials, solutions, and weapons? Preserved jars of female reproductive organs? Body parts?
But as I braced myself… I was shocked.
Blank walls. No furniture. Just a Victor E. Knight suit.
This suit was different— the knight wore black, and its armor was gold. It hung from the closet in Daga like some kind of relic.
Then Nate noticed something: a card tucked beneath the suit’s floorboards. He picked it up and read it aloud:
“Thought you could catch me? Better luck next time.”
Signed, Dean Mach.
I looked up at the golden knight. At what this meant for sterilization across the world. Had it all been a lie? Were those emails fake?
Love,
Carrie Bradshaw