caf files 1

Hello friends. Today I have a very special topic that is near and dear to my heart: the awkwardness of the caf. Since the place is being renovated for next year, I thought, "What better way to enshrine it than to pick apart its awkwardness on the internet?" So for the next few days I will be bringing you the highlights of my folly in our beloved Nicholson Commons.

Number 1:

Probably the greatest source of rosy cheeks in the cafeteria is the ominous task of finding the people you came with. You know you have to; you know it's going to be impossible, like they sat at that one table downstairs around the corner completely out of view, or decided for the first time in three years that it was a nice enough day to sit outside. So you linger at the silverware cart (Those are some nice spoons...) in apprehension.

Sometimes I try to find my friends from that safe zone of the cart, but it almost never works. God laughs in my foolish face: "If you want the comfort of a social group, you better pay your dues meandering. It's not like these things are given freely." Touché, Lord.

So I begin the journey, employing a practiced look of Glancing Nonchalantly, and not Desperately Scanning to Avoid Social Destruction, and I see a lot of nice people who I could sit with. They even give me the "There's a seat right here!" look, but alas. The unwritten friend code (section 93) says that you do NOT betray the people you came with. Don't be a Boromir, be a Sam.

So I continue on my quest, passing table after table of people who have no doubt been watching my progress and are judging me for spending such a long time confused and alone...until finally I see that waving friend like a rescue helicopter over the choppy ocean of failure. See, masses, I belong to someone!

And the thing is, the thing that gets me every time in my irony bone, they're sitting at the table right-the-eff in front of where I began my search! It's like I have a blind spot to those tables that are right in front of the silverware. Man, do I hate that discovery. But at least at this point I am safe in my cocoon of snuggly acceptance. Now I am free to begin whatever new awkward experience old Nicholson throws at me (sly dog). Stay tuned.