OP-ED: I Lost My Dignity to Bento Box A

Another day, another mountain to climb. Another lecture, another boulder to roll up the metaphorical hill of canvas. Another day, another lunch hour.

Houston Hall.

I approach my destiny. With wavering hands, I tap my Penncard. I do not use the Penn Eats app, for I fear the potential delays. 

Eleven ninety nine.

Why is there no fucking where to sit.

I literally have to go to the “game room” and consume my lunch there. Do you know how embarrassing that is? I have to watch individuals willingly play super smash bros in the middle of a historical building in between their classes. God do I wish I had their schedules. In any case, I take my seat.

Two dumplings, rice, chicken (mixed teriyaki and spicy sauce), six california rolls, lettuce.

My boyfriend said I don’t talk about the food enough. There is much literary analysis to be conducted on Bento Box A, nay, all of bento’s delicacies. The chicken is soggy, the lettuce crisp, the dumplings sing, the rice claps. A cacophony of flavors, multitudes of god, all within one box. Every pair of dumplings, chicken, rice grains, lettuce cut –all of it– 

A glimpse into the cosmic nature of christ.

Perhaps life is not all bad. Perhaps a brief respite can be found in the least dignifying of places. Perhaps I will do my readings whilst consuming this box. It consumes me, and all that I care about.

The box does not fit in the trash. None of my dignity remains.