Cardinal Sins of the Dining Hall

I’ve never been too big a fan of dining manners. Obtuse rules about the way you should hold your fork or whether to switch hands when you cut seem to be pretty irrelevant when we consider all the other things we could be spending our time on. But even for the most relaxed amongst us, there are certain rules so inviolable that to break them is to be cast out from the dining hall community faster (alright, much faster) than a chickwich comes off the grill. Thus, in order to promote harmony and a better relationship between all eaters, I present to you the cardinal sins of the dining hall.

The Grill Debater: This species of dining hall delayer is marked by his absolute inability to choose what items to order from the grill. He’ll often pick up the little pad of menu selections and the pencil, and then stand blocking the entire counter while he muses over the relative benefits of a cheeseburger or a tofu burger (go with the cheeseburger) or takes more than two seconds to mark which food he wants. An even more rare and destructive variant of the Grill Debater is Grillus Debatus Mistakus, who has the audacity to go back and correct his order or fix a possible spelling error in his name. Hey, I know people who’ve signed their sheets with “Beethoven,” or “Tom Brady.” Don’t worry—you’ll get your food.

The Drink Machine Blocker: The drink machines are laid out in a horizontal fashion for a reason, and it’s not just so that midgets can still reach them. When confronted with a drink machine, the Drink Machine Blocker always seeks to stand in the position that will inhibit the greatest possible number of people from reaching the machine. Usually this is a center position with arms spread, which is bad enough, but in certain situations Drink Machine Blockers become even more deadly. I’ve witnessed DMBs fill up their cup partway, take a long, slow, drink, and then continue to fill it up, all while people are waiting in line. The only word for this phenomenon? “Mind-boggling.”

Mr. 1800: Mr. 1800 is called that because he apparently was born long before “technology” existed. This infuriating person inevitably goes to get an ice cream cone moments before you do, and, despite having attended one of the nation’s finest institutions for at least a year or two, is absolutely mesmerized and befuddled by the operation of the soft serve machine. There are so many handles! Should I push it down or pull it up? Where exactly do I hold my cone/cup, and how do I twirl it in order to create a swirl? Never mind that this person has inevitably had countless meals and seen endless numbers of people use the machine. Reminiscent of Owen Wilson in Zoolander where he exclaims, “The files are in the computer,” the sounds and flashing lights of the modern world intimidate Mr. 1800 into absolute paralysis.

The Waffler: Perhaps most infuriating of all is the man who fills up the coveted waffle-maker with batter, then walks away into some kind of time warp where he absolutely loses track of when to return for his waffle. Come on, man, we all know that those things are on a 2:50 timer! Thus the rest of the people in the dining hall are forced to stand around and deal with the moral conundrum of removing the waffle from the iron or standing there and waiting for the delinquent Waffler to return from his other affairs (probably blocking the drink machine). We should invest in waffle irons that cause the waffle inside to explode if it isn’t picked up within ten seconds of finishing, but until that happens, let me recommend that you simply remove the offender’s waffle and don’t let their carelessness put a kink in your enjoyment of breakfast or brunch.

So there you have it, ladies and gentlemen. If together we can work to limit or minimize these common and unforgivable mistakes, we can guarantee ourselves a little more time to sit reading and chatting instead of battling our fellow students for control of the limited dining hall resources. So if you’re a Grill Debater, DMBer, Mr. 1800, or Waffler, make no mistake—we may not catch you today, and maybe not tomorrow. But your days are numbered.

Andrew L. Kreicher ’06 is a neurobiology concentrator in Leverett House