MATTHEW BAUM
Scallion Editor
I’m keeping it real with you, guys. This semester is whopping my whopper. Really, no lie. I’m absolutely befrungled this spring. Bescringled, even.
There is only one thing that’s keeping me in the loop, and I’m not alone.
Burger Wednesday.
Walking into Cranston Marché as a full-grown adult reminds me of a simpler time. A time when my classes were not so demanding. A time when I was brand new to Fredonia. A time when I had no standards for what I put in my body.
Every aspect of my current life is coming to fruition, but when I’m in Crannies on a Wednesday, all my problems drip away, like the residual soy chocolate milk from the perpetually-empty Silk dispenser.
There’s nothing that can crush my flow, when I place myself in a seat with a slightly-sticky table and start chomping down on fries that are neither hot nor cold, but are crispy and soggy at the same time. Every synapse in my brain fires into overdrive as I try to comprehend what exactly the burger is supposed to taste like, and how far from actual beef it is. The rush from finding out I was eating a turkey burger the whole time is close to a euphoric experience.
This high lasts, too. I carry my worry-free attitude with me all day, similar to how I carry those goddamn ketchup smudges to each class I have after lunch.
The students at this remarkable campus may have complaints. “Ooh, I don’t like the food here! I don’t want to eat food that’s uber-saturated with fat!” And that is perfectly reasonable. What my peers forget, however, is that life is already so g**d**m hard. Can I not have this one thing? Burger Wednesday is all I ask for. Let me have this. Please.
Please.