Sam Belmar ‘27 is a sociology and French double major. He’s a member of the Alpha Phi Omega service fraternity and enjoys playing basketball in his free time. Email him at sabelmar@wm.edu.
The views expressed in this article are the author’s own.
You might be wondering what I’m talking about. Think back to all the times you have crossed over the bridge on Ukrop Way to go to and from Earl Gregg Swem Library, the Raymond A. Mason School of Business, the Integrated Science Center, The Caf or even roach-infested Ludwell (which I have the privilege to call home).
What have you noticed? Any particular thought, feeling, sensation? Meteorological sensitivity? Have you opened the weather app? Wished you brought an umbrella?
All of these experiences are valid. What we are collectively living through is the most rare, disconcerting and unexplainable weather phenomenon ever observed in human history. You read that right. It’s perpetually raining at the College of William and Mary’s West Utility Plant.
No matter what side of the street we find ourselves on, as soon as the building’s 30-meter radius has been breached, the storm begins. Insidious raindrops of unknown chemical origin dance on our skin. We begin to feel an indescribable tingling sensation.
Could that be rain? No way. You checked the weather this morning and it’s forecasted to be sunny, through and through. You reach for your phone. Not even a ten percent chance of precipitation? Five percent? One percent? Nothing. Not a single drop. But you can’t deny what you’re feeling. You think it’s actually raining. And you’re not properly dressed nor mentally prepared to face these treacherous conditions. Wait. Hold on. It stopped.
Because the experience is as ephemeral as it is distressing, a vast majority of us end up entirely forgetting what happened. We never mention it to anyone. That’s why you’ve never heard a soul talk about this before, but you’ve lived this very description. It’s finally time to break our collective vow of silence and face this issue head-on. Together.
Sam Cooper ’25 has gone through this every day for as long as he can remember.
“I walk by this about every day, and I feel like most of the time there’s this little spritz of water coming off,” he said. “It isn’t happening right now, but I feel like most of the time, I would say it’s happening. I’m not sure why it does, but yeah, it just feels like it’s raining. I’m like, what is this weird water coming to us?”
He keeps hope alive that it is indeed water irrigating the sidewalk like a garden sprinkler.
“I think it’s water, I hope it’s water, let’s hope it is,” he said. “It feels like water, I mean it doesn’t obviously sting or anything weird. It’s always a little cold, I don’t know, it’s like a mist, it’s weird.”
I conducted anecdotal fieldwork to confirm my long-held suspicions. The industrial rainfall appears to occur at all hours of the day, with the greatest amount trickling down on the student body in the early to mid-afternoon. An oral history with College alumni next homecoming weekend may also be useful to track how far back this has been happening. King William and Queen Mary might have even experienced this in 1693.
At the right time of day, and with minimal clouds in the sky, one can see the unidentified liquid droplets erupt gracefully from the center of the building and disperse evenly in every direction imaginable. I have never observed anything more elegantly tragic than this in my entire life. If a water park category were added to the US News and World Report’s rankings evaluation criteria, the College would easily ascend back into the top 50 universities nationwide. We are missing a golden marketing opportunity here.
I often wonder why our student tour guides don’t hype up the West Plant meteorological vortex as a flagship perk of the College experience. I guess number one school in internships sounds marginally better. I’ve also never seen a walking tour leave Old Campus.
If I had a nickel for every time I heard a student say, “oh gosh, it’s raining” next to the utility plant, I’d make enough to qualify for Trump’s tax cuts for the top one percent starting in January 2025. Luckily, all bad news has a silver lining.
A class action lawsuit could be the average student’s NIL deal. Not all of us are gifted athletes capable of competing at the division one level. But that doesn’t mean we don’t deserve to secure a bag. Let the lay people dream, and they will make miracles happen.
Prior to writing this manifesto, I consulted with several people to ensure that I wasn’t hallucinating the College’s equivalent of a micro El Niño event. Every student I spoke with has experienced this at least once before. However, other thoughts quickly washed over their chemical-soaked heads before this could ever form into a core memory.
I cannot allow our collective ignorance to be perpetuated any longer. We must come to terms with the cold hard facts. It’s not sometimes raining at the West Utility Plant. Nor is it occasionally raining at the West Utility Plant. It is always raining at the West Utility Plant. Put most devastatingly, it is never not raining at the West Utility Plant.
Either climate change experts need to burst onto the scene or the College mechanic has been sleeping through his alarm to fix the hole in the ceiling. In any case, the around-the-clock rainstorm at our precious West Utility Plant needs to be investigated and contained before the mysterious forever chemicals tank my GPA even further.