OP-ED: Don’t Blame Me, Blame The System. I Will Eat My Kettle Chips in VP Basement Loudly and Proudly

With freshmen getting decent living situations and Wharton kids receiving mental health care now, I have comparatively few rights and privileges at this unjust school. However, there is one privilege that I will refuse to give up, no matter how egregious it may seem.

Don’t blame me; blame the system. I will eat my kettle chips in the VP basement loudly and proudly. Sweet, sweet Mark’s Café has its ups (Dibs) and downs (sandwiches, sushi, fruit, coffee), and kettle chips fall right in the middle. Crunchy, salty, and unsatisfying, they’re a top choice for “things to gnaw on to prevent myself from gouging out my eyeballs while studying.” 

So, when I buy those salt and vinegar crisps, don’t you dare expect me to wait until I get home to eat them. That’s right, motherfuckers: I will struggle with opening the bag, bending that thick plastic every which way to pop that baby open. 

And when I do, you bet your ass I’ll be crunching down on every single chip an optimal 32 times to ease swallowing and digesting. I munch; they crackle. I chomp; they smackle.

You think I’m disturbing your silent studying? Put headphones in. You can still hear me? Turn up your music. The sound of my war-like nibbling is drowning out the sound of your European EDM tunes? Take your headphones out, walk about 50 feet to this little hole in the wall, and buy yourself a bag. Delicious and cathartic!