Mark Twain once wrote, "Part of the secret of a success in life is to eat what you like and let the food fight it out inside." While Mark Twain is famous for his witty and inspiring quotes, I believe that he misses the mark here by underestimating the nuclear artillery that Tufts' dining hall food brings to the digestive battle.
Sure, one could argue that the food at Tufts is more tolerable than that at many other comparable institutions, but there are other troubling issues that need to be addressed. First, the Tufts student body needs to realize that dinner at the dining halls is served continuously between 5 and 8 p.m., not at exactly 6 p.m.
The students' mass exodus from the residence halls to the dining halls at this time makes eating between 6 and 6:30 as unbearable as ingesting one of those "chicken" grillas. Why not eat earlier? It's almost as if every student simultaneously thinks:
"Wait, it's only 5:30! If we leave now, we will miss standing in line for everything except the wheat germ!"
Which actually wouldn't be that bad for me, because I love wheat germ.
A similar problem that often arises at Carmichael is the unexplainable line of dim-witted anthropoids that forms for the stir-fry on Thursday nights. Again, instead of waiting 35 minutes for your food, why not come 35 minutes earlier and wait zero minutes for your food? While you're at it, why not camp outside of Carmichael for your precious stir-fry as if you were trying to score tickets to the Duke vs. UNC game at Cameron Indoor Stadium? Morons.
One thing that every dining hall employee should be ashamed of is the dreadful quality of the fruit that is offered. If the typical Carmichael apple were a cartoon character, it would be Abe Simpson: old, wrinkled, and neglected by all. To put an end to this negligence, I offer up the following solution: simply replace the wilted produce with fake plastic fruit. People wouldn't be able to eat it, which is pretty much where we stand right now, but at least it would look nice.
Another behavior that has to stop is the Tufts female population's infatuation with the ice cream machine. If ice cream machines could scream, we could call them "Screamin' Ice Creamin' Machines!" But more importantly, they would join the revolt of the entire male student body by wailing: "SINCE WHEN IS ICE CREAM A BREAKFAST FOOD?! MY SPIGOTS ARE EXCESSIVELY SORE!"
We cannot, however, remove these machines from the dining halls, because it would penalize those who enjoy their creamy excrement responsibly. Therefore, it would be in everyone's best interest if Tufts were to place scales in front of each machine as a constant reminder of the havoc these machines will wreak if used recklessly.
Nothing is more confounding than the obligatory freshman unlimited meal plan. What could Tufts' motives be for forcing the skinny incoming freshman to endure not one, not two, but three all-you-can-eat meals every day? While most other schools are satisfied with the freshman 15, here at Tufts, we strive for the freshman 50.
But why? Where is the logic behind this behavior? Are you thinking what I'm thinking? Clearly, the only logical conclusion that can be drawn here is that Tufts' dining operations are run by the evil Scorpion Lord, Shaklar, who aims to devour the fleshy freshman after their first year (so that's what happened to my roommate who "dropped out"). I, too, had my doubts about this hypothesis, so I decided to go right to the source and investigate.
I entered Dewick and promptly saw that Lord Shaklar had positioned two of his minions behind the card-swiping podiums. What a clever defense! Fearless, I asked one of the underlings where I could find the dark lord. Possibly thinking that I was the scorpion-food deliveryman, she turned and pointed toward that big glass room directly to her left. Of course! I knocked on the door and entered.
Lord Shaklar was a hulking beast, and he was sitting at his desk answering food- and scorpion-related emails. I decided to be firm:
ME: "Your highness, can you explain why your policies force unsuspecting freshman to turn themselves into beefy butterballs? The people have a right to know!"
SCORPION LORD SHAKLAR: Stab! (To clarify here, Lord Shaklar didn't yell out the word, "stab," which would be ridiculous, as scorpions have no vocal chords. The fiend did, however, stab me with his large poisonous tail.)
ME: "Does anyone have any Scorpion Lord antidote?"
Well, that interview didn't get me anything besides a super-fast ambulance ride to the emergency room. While the ensuing three hours were some of the most painful of my life, I did, at least, have my choice of meal options while inrecovery.
