Just over two weeks ago, somewhere in between those amber waves of grain and the purple mountain’s majesty, I sat anxiously in the passenger seat of my father’s FourRunner, eagerly anticipating my arrival at Georgetown. My mind was lost somewhere in the excitement of liberation and a constant fixation on all of the usual questions. Will I get along with my roommate? Will there be a good bagel store nearby? And then there is the question that victimizes the minds of all innocent females: Will I succumb to the “Freshman Fifteen”?
Luckily enough for me, the University’s absence of an effective meal service had already solved my problem. I didn’t have to worry about eating too much; the University wasn’t going to allow me to eat at all.
That’s right, I was na?ve when I first set foot on campus. I picked up my card from DOPS on the first night, and I actually believed that my responsibilities ended there. Boy was I wrong. When I handed over my card at New South that first day, I was not invited to partake in the feast of tropical fruits, gourmet ice cream and extremely nutritious cereals that comprise our wonderful cafeteria; instead, I was escorted off to the back of a long line. When I got to the front, the nice ladies informed me that my meal plan simply had not been “activated.” They smiled and slid my card through some sort of mechanical device, proclaiming that my card was now “activated.”
I believed them. I spent the rest of the day in eager anticipation of the delicious meal I would enjoy that night at one of our school’s dining halls.
Come dinner time, my friend Ginny knocked on my door asking “Do you want to go to Darnall?” I sure did; I couldn’t wait to use my “activated” meal card for which my mother had paid $1500.
Once again, my blindness only caused me grief. After having my card scanned at Darnall, I was informed that my meal plan had not been “activated.”
Somehow, I managed to ignore the rumbles of thunder (bouncing off the hollow walls of my empty stomach) long enough to reply, “But they just “activated” it earlier this afternoon!”
Apparently the fact that I had already stood in line for 20 minutes to have the card “activated” was completely irrelevant. When I asked if I could simply join my friends and partake in their conversation while abstaining from food consumption, I was met with a blunt and immediate “No.”
Instead, I stood on the cold cement and stared, while only a few feet away scores of Georgetown students were enjoying the meals that either they or their parents had previously purchased. My friend Ginny felt the injustice of the situation, and resolved to abandon a comfortable seat and our friends’ company so that she could eat her dinner with me, on the cold cement near the entranceway. But before Ginny could take one bite of her pita, a gruff voice penetrated our isolation. “You can’t eat that here.”
Compromising, we decided we would just take Ginny’s pita and leave the dining hall, but we were abruptly halted. “You can’t take that outta here either, young lady.” We attempted to explain our horrendous predicament, but the only response we received was a grunt and a “If you are going to take something out of here, Miss, it has got to be an orange or a banana. No pitas.”
I was disillusioned; not only could I not eat the meals my mother had already purchased, but I could not be in the presence of my friends if they were eating in a University dining hall. Frustrated, I grudgingly resolved that my only option would be to return to that long line at New South. I went to Vital Vittles, bought a bagel and retired to my room, summoning the strength I knew I would need for my trip the next day.
The next afternoon, I returned to New South with hopeful spirits. They were immediately bashed. “Oh, sweetheart, your card does not have your ID number ‘programmed’ into it. Did you not visit DOPS when you first arrived on campus?”
Actually that was the first place I visited.
Nonetheless, my meal card could not be “activated” until I had my ID number “programmed” into it. So I walked over to DOPS.
A fat “Closed” sign hung on the door to the ID room. Logicly, the ID portion of DOPS closed at noon, 30 minutes prior to my arrival.
When I asked the DOPS officers on duty if they could just go into that room and scan my card so that I could eat my first meal on campus, I was practically laughed at. I would just have to wait for the DOPS office to open at 9 a.m., the next morning.
The next morning, I arrived at DOPS promptly at 9 a.m. My ID number was “programmed” into my card in a matter of minutes, after which I traveled over to New South, and my card was successfully “activated.”
I almost broke into Handel’s “Messiah.” Before arriving on campus, I had no idea that my biggest challenge would be winning the right to eat meals I had already purchased. I simply did what each Georgetown authority figure had informed me to do. Yet, because of Georgetown’s lack of communication between departments and their students, I didn’t get to eat for three days. The rigid regulations of our University’s cafeterias are simply absurd, and if they are going to deny students their meals because their meal cards have not been “activated,” then they sure as hell better figure out a way to communicate what exactly “activating” a card here at Georgetown entails.
Or next year, with this lack of communication, the “Freshman Fifteen” will be taking on a whole new dimension.
