What My Commons Dinner Says About You

It’s a Monday night, and like all other Monday nights, I am at 1920 Commons. All around, the familiar buzz of students chatting and chowing down. I am in my element. And on this Monday night like all other Monday nights, I swagger towards the Salad Bar, ready to absolutely dominate. 

I reach the veggie buffet and snatch up a plate. I glare at the guy using the salad tongs until he scurries away. The King is back. I scoop a hearty mound of romaine onto my plate. Then another. And another. I top my lettuce mountain with grated carrots and some cherry tomatoes for flair, and lightly drizzle it with strawberry vinaigrette. That’s right, I eat the fucking rainbow. By now a line has formed behind me, but I don’t care. How does it feel to be in the presence of the healthiest, most balanced eater at Commons right now? Not great, I would imagine. Ha ha. 

My salad is ready. But before I can dig in, I must take her for a victory lap. I strut through the dining hall, my plate piled high with cold vegetables and pride. I pass the SimplyOasis station. A group of students eye my plate, as if to say, Are you really going to eat all that salad? Yes bitch. Bet you didn’t even think it was possible for someone to eat so healthy all the time. And what the hell is a SimplyOasis? Watch yourself. I parade past the long dining tables. All heads turn. I know you’re watching me. Do my healthy habits offend you? Does my developed palate threaten you? Are you jealous that my pile of lettuce is so much higher than yours and that I am most definitely going to eat every bite?

I reach the round tables, choosing a seat overlooking the windows. I pensively look out on Bridge-ommons, the crossing students peering up at me and my mighty heap of greens. I stare back. You can look but you can’t touch. I pick at my salad before abandoning its remains at the dish drop. It’s lonely at the top, but I manage. Because I am the fucking Commons alpha.