Naisha Patel

2:30 post meridiem. The bell was supposed to ring, but this is JP Stevens, so at 2:33 the flood of bodies is released into the hallways. Students drown within the jostling crowd in a desperate bid to get to their lockers. Stuffing their MacBooks and binders into their bags, they stumble to the lobby, expecting to soon be granted a reprieve from their school day. Instead, they find themselves entrapped within a cacophony of yells, shouts, and rampant consumerism.

The minute students step foot here, they are bombarded with club-sponsored solicitors. These hawkers (pun very much intended) all fight for one thing, and one thing only: money. They salivate at the opportunity to pull a couple of greenbacks, and perhaps a few shiny silver quarters, out of the student body’s pockets. Their profit margins are in the quadruple digits. But competition is the great equalizer, and so competing factions are forced to cohabitate in order to rake in that sweet, sweet dough.

Speaking of dough, though, it is impossible to speak of what goes on in the Lobby without addressing the most stalwart combatant this economic battlefield has ever known: pizza. The classic combination of cheese, sauce, and crust can often be found to the right of the main exit. Drawing in hordes of people, slices are constantly flying around, selling like hotcakes. It, quite simply, makes bank. But it is as unloyal as it is profitable; the club behind the pizza never remains consistent between two weeks. Yes, a rotating schedule has had to be created because pizza has no values and certainly no allegiance to anyone. Pizza is a thrill-seeking adrenaline junkie who is only in it for the sport of it all.

What are these clubs? These, of course, are the veterans of the game; the old guard. There are the popular big businesses, like FCCLA and DECA, constantly striving to obtain the most fundraising dollars. There is the ever-reaching hand of government present, slinging ‘za in the same breath as selling HoCo tickets. Then there is the JPS Hawkeye, perhaps the noblest of these organizations. Equipped with the highest quality wares from Oakwood Pizza, The Hawkeye always aims to serve their customers with a smile on their face and a can-do attitude, similar to all the other clubs that are consistently striving to promote and sell. It’s always a good idea to buy what they’re selling. But while these players may be here to stay, there are always new folk looking to join the fray.

Novelty sells. These newer clubs take advantage of that. Take the Italian Club, who come in to sell their delicious cannoli every couple of months. That’s a new, exciting foodstuff in an endless rotation of baked goods and pizza. From apple cider to hot cocoa to straight Coca-Cola, anything edible is fair game now. But while novelty sells, another key element these players utilize is timing. The Art Club’s members, for instance, do an amazing job peddling their ice-pops on the hottest days of the year, and it works. Like, really works. They almost always sell out of their stock every single day. Come October, though, they’re nowhere to be found. Given Edison’s recent weather over the past couple of years, though, don’t be surprised when they start to sell in the middle of January.

Every day, from 2:33 (or 2:30 on a good day) to 2:40 PM, a showdown takes place in the front lobby of John P. Stevens High School. The club merchants take their familiar positions, hoping, praying, that this day will be their last- last day of fundraising, that is. But the always-lingering desire to promote and support their beloved clubs permeate the air, and with it, their hearts. They resign themselves, knowing that tomorrow will bring again a day of yelling and selling as if their GPAs depended on it.