It isn't as if I come from a family of culinary experts. So, when I came to college last year, I truly didn't expect the cafeteria food to be much more than edible. Apparently, I expected a little too much.
First off, who actually eats steamed brussels sprouts on purpose? University food service employees seem to think freshmen like to scarf down that fine vegetable nightly. One word: Ugh.
And few things in the world scare me as much as eating red meat. I once tried to eat a cheeseburger at a Kent cafeteria. Note the use of the words "once" and "tried." That cheeseburger gave me my first case of food poisoning (I think).
It wasn't all bad. I started developing favorites once I determined which foods were edible. Pasta days brought joy to my life. And, of course, grilled cheese on Fridays was always a treat. After weeks of suffering the indignity of swallowing the unknown and undocumented, grilled cheese was something a poor freshman could count on.
Nothing, but nothing, beats going home and eating real food well, maybe my own bed and bathtub, but it's a close call. All of my friends from high school were at different colleges busy gaining the dreaded "freshman 15" while I was at Kent State losing it.
Essentially, I survived my freshman year of cafeteria dining by learning what I could eat without getting sick. And now, as a seasoned sophomore, let's just say I've been eating a whole lot of grilled cheese lately.
Aside from the requisite summer camp experiences, I have never lived away from home or with roommates. To make matters even more nerve-wracking, I was assigned to a quad the equivalent of taking someone who doesn't know how to swim and throwing her into shark-infested waters. The following is my version of the average day in the life of a freshman dorm dweller:
5 a.m.: Someone's alarm goes off.
8 a.m.: Someone else's alarm goes off.
8:15 a.m.: Another damn alarm.
8:30 a.m.: My alarm goes off. I hit the snooze button.
8:45 a.m.: Snooze button.
9:00 a.m.: Snooze button.
9:15 a.m.: I crawl out of bed and stumble to the bathroom. Someone posted an asinine list titled "Ways to annoy your public bathroom stallmate" on the inside of the bathroom stall. Resting in the sink is a mound of something I pray is Grape Nuts. As I head to the shower, I am greeted by a wall of steam and the sight of gray, peeling plaster.
10 a.m.: After successfully retrieving my contact lens from the depths of the sink (the one without the Grape Nuts), I return to my room and dig out my jacket from the pile of clothes that is my closet. I grab my bag and almost lock the door before I remember to scan the bathroom for possible showering roommates. One day, I'm certain I will lock one of them out of our room.
10:15 a.m.: I walk from Harbourt Hall to the Tri-Towers cafeteria and grab a bagel and orange juice on my way to class.
1:30 p.m.: I leave my history class in Bowman, walking quickly and glancing at students as they venture toward the Student Center. At least half of them, I figure, are heading to the exact place I am: the cafeteria. I speed up, hoping to pass most of the crowd. No such luck.
3 p.m.: I return to my room. Amazingly, no one else is there. I use this sacred opportunity to blast the radio (first checking carefully to make sure no one is asleep) and check my e-mail. I appreciate my free time much more now that it's at a premium.
4 p.m.: Mission: To reach my car. To do so, I must trudge to the end of Loop Road, cross Summit Street (no mean feat, especially on Friday), catch the bus and attempt to find my car in the Stadium lot.
4:45 p.m.: I lost my car. Not my history book and not my orientation assignment. My car. I know, or at least I hope, that it sits somewhere within the vast confines of the parking lot. I also know that there are at least three others just like it, because I've unsuccessfully put my keys in each one of them.
7:30 p.m.: Car found and errands run, I head to Eastway for a greasy fast-food feast. It's the only cafeteria open after 7 p.m, and the entire free world is already waiting in line ahead of me.
7:45 p.m.: I return to my dorm. Two out of three roommates are already there. We attempt to study, but little distractions like the television, computer card games and the radio get in the way. I try to sit on my bottom-level bunk bed. In no less than five minutes, I have thoroughly tangled my hair in the springs of the top bunk. It takes me another five to extract my hair from the bed. I move back to the rug on the floor.
11:30 p.m.: I have reached my studying limit, so I plan to go to bed early and actually get some sleep for once. This is easier said than done when you have three roommates. I never make it to bed.
1 a.m.: I am no closer to sleep, but I am completely caught up on all the Harbourt Hall gossip, as well as my roommates' classes and lives.
1:30 a.m.: I finally drift off to sleep, when loud laughing and talking erupts in the hallway.
5 a.m.: Somebody's alarm goes off. Damn.
