Ahhh, the simple art of cone theft. Over the years many have loaded a number of descriptions onto this noble craft: thrilling, devious, psychotic even, but pointless? Many have dared to make this bold assertion, calling cone theft ludicrous for the fact that the art has no purpose. And…to some degree these cone bashers do have a point. Sure, the absolute rush of committing the crime is something to be dreamed of. You think jovially of how sick you look carrying a trophy which proudly signals your delinquency. There’s a point in that, undoubtedly. But then what? What to do with your trophy? If you’re an arts and crafts fiend, you will make a bong or a nice hat, but how many of us are arts and crafts fiends, really? No, the cone is doomed to sit idly in your flat or hall before finding itself once more back on the street, reversing all the good done by the original act of stealing it in the first place. There must be another way.
The humble folk of Queenstown certainly thought so. And thus Conehenge was born, a structure giving stolen cones purpose beyond the initial act of theft. Originally called the ‘Wakatipu Vessel’, the structure is a sculpture composed of a statuesque waka structure on top of two three-metre plinths. Seemingly frustrated by the Council’s bureaucracy and the amount of cones in the city, residents re-appropriated the statue for their own needs, throwing collected cones in the waka to pile into a grand mass. The culture of Conehenge took off and it is now a weekly ritual for the Council to retrieve the cones, only for them to be thrown back into the waka again the next week. What simple joy that structure must provide to cone thieves throughout Queenstown.
Dunners’ cone culture is undoubtedly superior to the measly Queenstown efforts, yet students have struggled to come up with an ingenious tactic to give the art of cone thievery a kick in the backside. Here in the Otago University community we love to give back, which is exactly why our very own Conehenge is necessary. So without further ado, here is a shortlist of a few spots Critic Te Ārohi suggests may act as suitable Conehenges for future generations to come. Finding these spots was no joke for our team of fine investigative journalists: one must find a spot not too hard to reach, but also visible enough to make the venture satisfying or else the joy of the venture would be lost.
One potential spot could be The Cone - the flat with the orange beast as its namesake. Already a cone sits atop the roof, unreachable by residents or pesky landlords. The cone is perfectly placed, a beacon of cone culture on the streets of Leith. Yet there’s a catch: on this cone-shaped roof, there is only enough space for one cone. Any additions would simply slide off. Sure, you could try to create a stack - or there’s the option of throwing cones through the flat window - but some would suggest that may destroy the peaceful and innocent ethos which is fundamental to cone theft culture. For these very reasons, the top of the clocktower can also be excluded as a potential candidate, although Critic Te Ārohi does admit that would be pretty legendary if anyone fancies a go at it. We may even reward you with a free Red Bull, as a treat.
The next potential location for project Conehenge is the fountain that sits at the end of the Botanical Gardens. Custom built with its very own moat, getting cones to the top of this behemoth would be a challenge for even the burliest of shot-putters. Yet the challenge would make sticking a cone up there all the more satisfying. Plus, there’s the chance you may get a bit of a splash for your efforts, a marker of how absolutely naughty you have been. You know it, your flatties know it, and the world knows it; you’re not someone to be messed with when you walk out of the Botans soaking wet, firm in the knowledge that you have won glory in the field of battle. Yet therein lies the problem. We as students do enough to make the humble Botans staff upset (looking at you, Knox), so why not give them a break on this one eh? Leave the fountain in its majesty for ducks and overly excited children to frolic in.
This takes us to our final stop. There is only one place Conehenge could really be. A place we love as much as we hate, a place we fear as much as we crave: the top floor of Central Library. Simple as it may seem at first glance, hiding a cone on the top floor of Central Library actually presents a significant challenge given the fact that library staff are constantly on alert. Those beady-eyed library assistants will keep you honest – there’s no hiding a metre-high cone from their watchful eyes. Oh, but think of the reward! Once you hit the top floor, library assistants are no more. The cone you have successfully snuck in will sit untampered with until the apocalypse. How satisfying it would be to watch this hidden horde grow, as staff and students pass by, blissfully unaware of the total conage. Plus, the library is only heavily guarded in the day. Sneak in any time past 9pm and you’ll have it much easier. If this doesn’t sound like you, Critic Te Ārohi also recommends placing them on the random skinny statues in the centre of campus.
The cone’s life should not end in the desolation of the flat. We must be better. Only in finding Conehenge is a future for the art of cone thievery ready and waiting. Critic Te Ārohi has supplied a few examples of possible Conehenge sites but, when it comes down to it, it is the people who must decide. One small action is enough to change a cone’s life.