Culture

1.  You wake up, wrapped up in a duck-down comforter with that gorgeous OUSA green burned into your eyelids. It's time to take on your busy day. You leap out of bed and go down to your kitchen to pour yourself a big bowl of Weet-Bix. What do you do while you eat your meal?

1. Open your emails and try to get on top of those tasks. (Go to 2)
2. Plan your outfit of the day. You’re a public figure after all. (Go to 3)
3. Read the latest issue of Critic Te Ārohi (AKA NZ’s best student mag). (Go to 4)

2. You open your laptop, hoping to find an empty inbox. Unfortunately, it's blinking red with 385 unread emails. What do you do?

1. Skim read them and reply to the ones that sound interesting enough to not bore you back to sleep. (Go to 5)
2. Delete them all. If it's really important, they’ll surely send a follow-up email. (Go to 6)
3. Draft a vague “sorry for the delay” email and BCC other Exec members in. You can deal with that later. (Go to 7)

3. As President of Otago's best student association, you know you always need to put your best foot forward, so that's why you always have the most stylish outfits. What are you wearing today?

1. A dark green blazer paired with the best Christmas present that Donna, OUSA’s Secretary, got you: green, Shrek-themed Crocs. (Go to 8)
2. A checkered button-down slung over your coolest Lululemon outfit. You never know what the marketing team may try to get you to do for Instagram today. (Go to 9)
3. Radio One tee, Levi jeans, and beautifully styled hair. Your outfits always give 100%, just like you give to your student constituents. (Go to 10)

4. Opening the Critic website, you see a blinding red headline: ‘OUSA President signs off $130,000 – without telling the Exec?’ This is NOT GOOD. Panicking, you…

1. Jump over to your emails to see if you can find anything about this scandal in there. (Go to 2)
2. Text the Critic editor and ask if they're mad at you. (Go to 11)
3. Post an Insta story trying to pin the blame on anyone but yourself. (Go to 12)

5. You skim the emails with the speed of a seasoned office temp. Most are from clubs asking for money; your Admin Vice President scheduling another meeting with Vice Chancellor Grant Robertson; and a Critic reporter wondering when students can expect the next sausage sizzle to be. One stands out: it's from your old high school inviting you to give a speech inspiring the next generation. You're probably too busy but the chance to go back makes you fizz. What do you do?

1. Reply “keen!” then book the cheapest flight and forget about it. (Go to 13)
2. Ignore it, just like you ignore your overflowing waste paper bin. (Go to 14)
3. Panic and forward it to Donna (OUSA’s Secretary) to see if you can really fit it in between council meetings and budget calls. (Go to 15)

6. You delete all your emails. Your inbox is clean, but your conscience is not.

1. Use this free time to have a “breakfast” meeting with your Finance and Strategy Officer – on the OUSA card, of course. (Go to 16)
2. Head to the Clubs and Socs building to check out the Rec programme yoga session. (Go to 17)
3. Open Instagram and post a story to garner support for a brand new anti-mould, pro-warmth flats campaign. (Go to 18)

7. You send your blanket BCC and slam your laptop closed. Problem solved… for now. What's next on the agenda?

1. First, a campus wander to see if the Leith is still smelling fresh and clean. Second, checking the condition of OUSA branding around campus (it's still the most blinding green you have ever seen). (Go to 17)
2. Scroll social media to see if anything scandalous has been posted on the ‘UoO Meaningful Confessions’ Facebook page. (Go to 19)
3. Go back to bed. You’re not paid enough for this. (Go to EA)

8. Shrek Crocs are a hit, even if they do squelch as you walk through the corridor into the Link. Onto the next thing.

1. Time to attend an Exec meeting. You're twenty minutes late, but at least you’ve got your Precinct coffee, complete with a candied popcorn treat (you deserve it). (Go to 20)
2. Stop by Radio One to announce a new campaign! You want to create a grown-ups’ playground on Union Lawn to “blow off some steam” between lectures. (Go to 21)

9. Your Lululemon fit was a great choice! Marketing has roped you into doing a few TikTok dances – your favourite!
You absolutely eat it up. The TikTok gets 3,000 likes in two hours. You're a star! (Go to 22)
You are a bit clumsy and trip over your Residential Rep while attempting to do a full body ‘woah’. (Go to EB)

10. Your outfit gets a LOT of compliments. Someone stops to tell you they “love your shirt!” You get chatting and they end up inviting you to a Swiftie Club event.

1. Accept the offer and go have an amazing time jamming out to ‘Fearless’. (Go to 23)
2. Politely decline in favour of scoping out some $4 lunch, but let them know that your Welfare Rep is a big fan of Taylor. (Go to 17)

11. You text the editor “do you think that new article is bad press? :( ”. They reply, “Yes.” FUCK. Damage control time. (Go to 3)

12. You post a cunty picture of yourself looking very official with the caption, “Not my fault, lol!” Your DMs are flooded within ten minutes.

1. You go on DND and cry #emohours. (Go to EC)
2. You decide to double down and hold a listening party for ‘Fearless’ the album coz that's what you are: fearless. (Go to 23)

13. You forget the speech and only remember on your way to the airport. The plane lands, you still have nothing, and so you improvise and talk about the power of joining clubs in first year. The teens are bored to sleep. (Go to ED)

14. You miss the opportunity but instead decide to spend the morning crafting the perfect outfit to wear to the Tea Appreciation Society luncheon. (Go to 10)

15. Donna replies, “It's up to you. It's a great opportunity but you do have a few big meetings today.” Damn. (Go to 6)

16. Your FSO really enjoyed the free breakfast and also loved your pitch for an OUSA-run cafe, and has agreed to help scrape the barrel for some funding to see if you can get it off the ground. (Go to 24)

17. You get stopped by students playing D&D on your way into the Evison room. You join. Now you're the president AND a level 6 elf warlock. (Go to EE)

18. The campaign post has 1200 votes in 45 minutes. The Otago Daily Times calls and now you're on tomorrow's front cover. (Go to EA)

19. Your name is indeed posted in a confession. Someone says they had a sex dream about you and it got really kinky. The top comment is “that’s my president ;)” (Go to 24)

20. The Exec are in chaos. Someone’s laptop sounds like it's about to fly away, one Exec member has coffee spilled down their top, and another is crying in the corner. You quietly slip into a chair, pretending you were there on time, then wipe your workload clean to deal with this shitshow. (Go to 6)

21. The radio host cuts you off to play the latest hit from the band you saw at Pint Night last week. You vibe despite the awful noise. (Go to EE)

22. Your new-found fame gives you a bit of leverage with the OUSA accounts staff. So you obviously demand they buy a branded blimp. (Go to 24)

23. The listening party goes off without a hitch. Guess you can add “world’s biggest Swiftie” to your already overflowing CV. (Go to 24)

24. You make it to the end of the day. Your inbox is only mildly on fire. Auahi Ora just gave you a free oat milk latte. Someone high fived you and thanked you for fighting for their rights, and will definitely take you up on your open door policy for a yarn sometime. You have made it. (Go to EF)

Endings

EA: You survive. Only just and it is probably a good idea that you don't go into the office again. Not tomorrow, not ever. Your phone is on Do Not Disturb, Donna has blocked you, and the OUSA Exec has started to refer to you as ‘The President Who Must Not Be Named’. You flinch at the sight of OUSA green and walk on the opposite side of the road from the Clubs and Socs building.

EB: You’re hospitalised. It was all too much and the sprained ankle felt like an easy way out. The hospital did also find out that you are dehydrated. Guess coffee and white Monsters aren't a great replacement for water – who knew?

EC: You’re cancelled. It started with that Insta story. Then someone unearthed your Year 11 media studies short film where you tried to convince the world that the earth is flat. Within 12 hours, you're trending on Twitter and your face is being meme-ed for the whole world to see. A first-year Gender Studies student produces an hour-long podcast about the rise and fall of your presidency. At least you now have a legacy, even if it is pretty negative.

ED: It was all too much. You quit the next day. By 9am, you've already cried in the bathroom twice and accidentally agreed to chair four subcommittees. You stare into your soggy Weet-Bix and reflect on your term. You decide no more. The resignation letter hits inboxes at 3:47am and the ODT has a hold of the story by 6am. You leave your OUSA keys on top of the freshly delivered paper with your face printed on the cover the next day.

EE: Unionism is your thing. You ditch the presidency to fight for something bigger. Your true form is a megaphone wielding organiser, storming university senate meetings and calling out high taxation on your highly political Radio One show. You’re feared by admin staff, loved by the little guy, and constantly quoted by Salient. You lead the movement that will eventually end unpaid placements and get a tattoo on your chest that says, “Strike First, Strike Hard, Strike Often.”

EF: You're the best president ever. You've done the impossible. Even the ‘Dunedin News’ Facebook page has never given you any negative press. The budget balances, the Exec gets along, and you’re invited to do a TEDx Talk about authentic and effective leaders. You're immortalised in a mosaic above the OUSA archway, wearing a neon green OUSA apron and holding a sausage in one hand, a megaphone in the other.