Food at GS

              To describe my experience of the food at GS in 400 words is a little difficult. Not because it wouldn’t be able to fit all the rantings I have about how bad it is, but because I really haven’t thought about it that much. For me, the food has always been above par, or at least right on it. I’ve never been one of those hypocritical complainers talking about how bad the food is as they shove it in their mouths. I’ve just gone in, sat down, ate my food, and got out. That’s how it’s been for the past year and I have yet to be disappointed. In other words, it’s difficult, and maybe pointless, to write a 400 word paper expressing “meh”.

                But, maybe there is more to talk about here. Maybe the dining hall is more than just a place where animals get what they need then leave. After all, we’re humans, so practically everything we do has some sort of social aspect woven into it. Remember the whole “soy-nut butter” incident of last year? Part of me sometimes wonders if the protesters were having more fun yelling about it than they actually cared about bringing peanut butter back. We, as teenagers, are like unlit fuses of confusion and frustration. Any kind of change in the usual routine that lets us release these things will light that fuse, and so it did last year. Let’s think about what would have happened if this situation went down at a typical office. You can no longer get butterfingers from the vending machine. How would the workers have reacted? Maybe at first, politely asked the boss to bring them back, to which he would say something about the budget and shoo you out of his office, and that would probably be the end of it. Adults, more pessimistic about their worldview as they realize their age, wouldn’t have the same, self-centered rebellious spirit as teenagers would. They would suck it up and order something else from the vending machine. That whole incident of last year demonstrated that here at GS, we are free-thinking, non-passive beings who do not view the “boss” as the controller of our lives. This is the danger of liberal, Quaker teenagers.

                This brings me back to the complainers. Just as the peanut-butter protestors didn’t care as much about the issue as they said they did, maybe they don’t really dislike the food as much as they say. By exaggerating and sharing their ideas with others, they can all insult the food to their heart’s content—but still have to eat it. In this way, the dining hall is a kind of social punching bag that never takes any offense and will always be there for another zinger. It allows us to decompress, not just by giving us nourishment, but also giving us the enjoyment of making fun of it. We can all pretend we’re in this awful situation where we eat nothing but junk all day, and make ourselves the hero of our own tragic story. It gives us the motivation to continue, to rise up, and to rebel.

                So, all in all, I am appreciative of the dining hall. I thank it for the spirit it gives, and for playing its role as the perpetual villain we create to make us feel better about ourselves. I thank it for every bland dessert, and for every soggy piece of tofu. For every bone I find in the chicken, and for every food I’ve never heard of on its menu. And finally, for every time I go looking for a utensil and find none, eventually having to use a bendy plastic fork to try and cut a cold turkey meatball. Thank you.