I write, dear readers, to inform you of an epidemic. I’m not talking about a flesh-eating virus or a virus that causes you to want to eat flesh; I’m not warning you to be wary of the self-serve stations at Warren Towers or reminding you to wash your hands (although you really should do both, often). Unlike the good folks at GTK, I’m not concerned about your skyrocketing stress levels or sleep deprivation (although again, you really should sleep. Really). If you’re getting your shut-eye and eating your vegetables and taking your vitamins, your health is not currently my concern. My sanity, however, is.
Did your parents ever yell at you to “Close the door, you weren’t raised in a barn”? Mine did, and judging by the fact that one of my childhood best friends grew up on a farm and I was allowed to spend plenty of time with her, I’m pretty certain their use of the idiom is not a condemnation of actual barn-residing individuals. They simply used “you weren’t raised in a barn” as an euphemism for “close the door, Rhiannon, you’re acting like an idiot.”
Good people of BU, you’re acting like idiots. Some of you may have been raised in barns, so I won’t invoke that saying here, especially because I don’t actually care whether or not you remember to close doors behind you (although yet again, you probably should. Lock them, too. If you live on-campus there are lots of stickers to remind you).
What I do care about is your seeming inability to push in your chairs. That sounds petty, but I’ll paint you a picture: it’s around noon on a Tuesday, you’re in-between classes, and you pop into Warren to eat. Your backpack protrudes from your back like a spider monkey, and since it’s Boston it’s very possible
that you’re also wearing a huge puffy jacket. You wait in an astronomically long line to procure something that will make your tummyhappy(?), and then you set out on the nearly impossible quest to find a table, or at least a chair. You’re lucky enough to spot an open space to plop your butt, so you beeline for it. And that is where you go wrong.
Were you living in a civilized society, you’d be able to juggle your bag, jacket, food, and drink and successfully make it to a table, possibly even without linebacking. But you’re not living in a civilized society, you’re at college. So as you sprint toward your coveted seat, you might run into a person, or trip over a backpack. But I guarantee, if you don’t look where you’re going, you WILL run into a chair.
Chairs, when used correctly, are wonderful devices that allow us to rest our feet, lean back, and engage in activities in non-strenuous ways. Butin the BUniverse, chairs are weapons of mass destruction that the careless wield to abuse the hungry and untrained. You don’t expect obstacle course mastery to be a prerequisite for college, but it totally is.
Life is hard enough already without bodily injury from inanimate objects. Sure, BU dining could arrange the tables in a way that makes sense, but it’s probably easier for you to just stop sucking. Push in your chairs, everyone. Even the livestock knows better than that.