Food Theft: YOLOOOOO

Most students at the College of Merp choose the full meal plan--21 meals per week--because the food is quite good and it's nice to have someone cook for you and wash your dishes.  But a significant minority of students choose to get 14, 10 or 5 meals per week.  The idea of buying a reduced meal plan is theoretically that you will buy your own food and/or sleep through breakfast every day.  Maybe sleep through the weekends too.

This rarely happens in real life.  Those who sign up for the reduced plan often do so with the insane grin that's shorthand for "YOLOOOO!"  Instead of having 21 opportunities to get 21 meals, a student now has, let's say, 10 opportunities to get the same number of meals.  Sneakiness, pockets, not making eye contact, and creative use of potential containers are popular strategies in this campus-wide challenge.  Last year, one student actually wrote an article in the school newspaper on how to, ahem, maximize your ratio of food obtained to food paid for.  

Naturally, Dining Services did not think this was so great.  (This is probably one reason for Shimesky's limitations.)  And I have to admit that I side with them.  On the other hand, they should be flattered that we think the food is so good that we want to steal it.  Other colleges don't have this problem.

Honestly, I think it's totally cool to take a snack for later when you're eating a meal that you paid for.  There's a difference between getting your money's worth and smuggling a rice-cake bag filled with sandwiches out of the dining hall by hiding it in your pants leg.  Most students on the full meal plan don't eat all of their meals, anyway--c'mon, early breakfast on Sunday is for squares.

With all of this in mind, I have drawn up a few images of Acceptable ("Yes") vs. Unacceptable ("No") use of dining hall resources.  My devoted readers may refer to these in times of internal strife.

Limitations

Here at college, we have three dining halls.  Two of them are delicious, gluttonous all-you-can-eat free-for-alls as soon as you swipe your card to enter.  But Shimesky is the only dining hall that attempts to limit student consumption.

Why, I have no idea.  Maybe because it's easier for students and townspeople to sneak into Shimesky than into the other dining halls.  Anyway, one of the Shimesky policies is that you are permitted a single entrée:  vegan, salad, pasta, carnivore, or sandwich.  This is not my favorite rule in the world, especially since I am currently running distances that require me to eat nonstop in order to not evaporate.

But rules are rules.  One night I got back from my run so late that I had barely enough time to grab a quick Shimesky dinner to bring to my evening class.  The vegan entrée looked good.  I asked for some and was served the sort of amount you would give a small girl if you did not know that she had just run twelve miles.  My heart sank.  (My stomach screamed.)  I kept up a brave face.  With the meager pile of food on my tray, I trotted over to the salad bar and asked the salad people if I could have an entrée salad.  They very nicely said no.  I forced my face into a polite expression while subtly mind-lasering them with the force of a thousand suns, and asked for a side salad instead.  They were happy to give me that.

Thus I had to improvise to get enough calories in my dinner. Five minutes later, I strolled out of Shimesky with:

a small tofu fajita heaped with guacamole, salsa, and vegan sour cream;

a side salad overflowing with edamame and carrots and honey mustard dressing;

a thick slice of bread slathered in peanut butter;

a big chocolate cupcake crowned with a sugary tower of frosting;

a tall glass of soymilk;

and two golden bananas. 

The Dining Services people were not pleased to see me go.  I could feel the irritation oozing from their unwavering, hawklike stares:  "Gosh darn it—another scumbag student stealing her next two meals.  Gotta make them trays smaller."

But they were wrong.  I ate ALL of it.  During class.  Fork in one hand and pencil in the same hand.  (What, did you think I was ambidextrous?)  A classmate actually congratulated me when I finished.  So there, Shimesky.  So there.