Dale Knudsen!

He’s been a mysterious entity on campus . . . parading around, wearing his Windows 7 fleece, preaching the words of Windows 7, doing all things Windows 7 that you could imagine, but now we finally know his name: Dale Knudsen.

On the outside, he appears a forceful man. Stopping you on your way to Mass to tell you about how smooth of an upgrade Windows 7 is over Vista. Or perhaps pushing you into a bath of Windows 7 software when you really only want to take a shower. But underneath this Windows 7 man’s salesman demeanor lies a peaceful chap, only wanting what is best for you and me.

As a Mac user, I honestly care little about Windows 7, which is why I was able to break through his otherwise impenetrable shield of Windowsness. Once I responded with my simple “I own a Mac” and handed this man an ice-chilled Zima, I was able to get a response to the question that so many of us want to ask: “Where did you come from, Windows 7 man?”

He took the Zima from my hand and beckoned for me to follow him. We walked down a dark, damp alley off Union and found ourselves before a large tree. At this moment, Dale turned around and smiled at me, ensuring that he knew what was going on. He took his finger and lifted up a thin piece of bark. He stepped back. The tree began to transform. Its sides bowed out as a large doorway appeared. We walked inside.

I followed Dale down a long, spiral staircase — lighting torches along the walls to give us light. Eventually, we came to a single door. An old wooden door with a golden doorknob. Dale opened the door, and we walked inside.

Inside was a party. But not any party. A party of intellectuals. Men and women dressed in cashmere and corduroy. Dogs smoking pipes. Cats on mantels. “Welcome,” Dale said, “to my home.” This countered everything I knew about the man. I need to ask questions; I needed to make sense of what was going on.

“Wait, aren’t you an RA in Bellarmine?” I asked.

Dale chuckled. ‘Twas a great chuckle. Like a lumberjack after chopping down a spruce. “Oh, Adam, you have much to learn.”

“So this is where you are from?

“Yes. Yes it is.”

We continued through the room and went to his kitchen. Dale opened the fridge and began scrounging around. Finally, the noise of the party was in the background — the murmurings and amusement of academia behind us. I could finally ask the vital question:

“So what drove you to be the Windows 7 guy?”

He turned around and looked at me quizzically. Then he started laughing.

“Well,” he said, “Microsoft gives sweet benefits to people who support their products, and I like it a lot better than Vista.”

There was a brief pause. I didn’t know what to say. I had my answer, or at least, I knew that Dale wasn’t going to say anything more. There was an element of mystery to this man.

“Do you want some mustard?” He asked.

“Not really . . .”

“Your loss,” he said before walking back out into the party.

I took a few moments to collect my thoughts before going back out to the party and up the spiral staircase. After exiting the tree, I began walking north to what I thought was the right direction. On the walk home, I started thinking about Dale Knudsen. I asked him a simple question and he showed me into his world. His strange, fantastical, slightly-deranged world. He even offered me mustard. I couldn’t help but wonder if Microsoft even knew that Dale was the Windows 7 man or if Dale Knudsen was simply spreading the Windows 7 joy because of his own good will.