Every week, our esteemed campus is privileged to host the premier dining event known as Meatless Mondays. Featuring mouthwatering gourmet creations, no expense is spared in providing the best possible meal…wait, what? Oh right, that’s not true at all.
Depending on the length of your tenure here at UR, you are probably quite familiar with what Meatless Monday entails. For the freshmen and transfer students who have yet to naively wander into Douglass on a stormy night looking for dinner, let me paint you a word-picture:
You arrive in the dining hall late in the afternoon, limbs weary and stomach rumbling. After two labs and an entirely incomprehensible math lecture, all you want to do is sit down with a burger from the grill, or maybe with whatever assemblage of chicken the Home Zone has concocted today.
Entering from the tunnels, the first thing that crosses your mind is, “Hey, where the hell are all the people?” Far from the normal hustle and bustle of a regular Douglass dinner, today things seem….eerily empty. A few scattered groups cluster around tables, their eyes haunted and filled with resignation.
Brushing this sight aside (Maybe there’s poutine in Danforth again, you think), you wearily continue towards the serving area. After swiping your ID with the employee at the front desk, who was legitimately startled by your approach, you hurry towards the grill to receive your long-awaited nourishment only to find the station barren and lifeless. You ask the kitchen worker behind the bar if you could get a hot dog, and he responds, voice filled with sincere apology, “Sorry, it’s Meatless Monday.” Your blood runs cold, and your mind freezes. Wait, no meat? That’s impossible. What kind of person would do that? What else am I supposed to eat? You turn to the Home Zone, desperate for reassurance that it’ll all be okay, only to see the menu starkly read, “Turnip Stuffed Tofu with a Side of Grass from the Quad”. Your stomach shrieks in despair, and you fall to your knees in disbelief. Your last thought before MERT rushes you to Strong is, “Man, I really should have gone to Danforth.”
Now that I’ve made the situation clear, let me suggest some alternatives, should you find yourself fiending for a meal some Monday night. Students in the Residential Quad can make the trek over to Danforth to spin the Will-It-Be-Good-Or-Just-Shockingly-Average-Tonight wheel (Students in Sue B, there’s really no reason to go anywhere else. Stick with the wheel). You can head to the Pit to purchase greasy regret with your Monopoly dollars. Or you can really just suck it up and go to Chipotle for real food.
The issue could be resolved by just leaving the grill open for those who would like it, or perhaps improving the quality of the entrée so that more people would be inclined to try the healthy option. But don’t worry: all of the money they’re not spending on food is wisely being spent finishing Collegetown and Brooks Crossing in time for the Fall semes… oh, wait. Right.
Aho is a member of
the class of 2017.
