Angry Adam: Phelps World, Part Deux

Alright, I’ve done this twice before, and honestly I thought we were totally done with this subject, but you guys keep bringing me right back into writing this. Well, fasten up your seatbelts you little baby people and grab your terrible friends who don’t read The Anchor because this is an article for them. That’s right, it’s time for Phelps part three.

For some reason, this has been a thing that keeps happening, and I’m not sure if it’s because you people don’t think or because you were raised in a literal barn. Here’s a quick and easy guide to knowing when you should serve yourself and when you should wait to be served. You just have to ask yourself a few questions.

1. Is there someone standing there? If the answer to this question is yes, don’t touch the food.

2. Was somebody just standing there, or is it clear someone is coming back soon? If the answer is yes, don’t be rude, you have a few seconds to spare for an employee to change gloves, so try waiting for like 20 seconds.

If you’ve waited for 20 seconds and nobody has come back or looks like they’re coming back, this is the time that it’s probably okay to take the food. Another quick tip is that if it’s on the main line, and it’s not breakfast, the food probably isn’t for you to help yourself to, so just don’t. Or, better yet, judge by the crowd. When 15 other people haven’t taken food themselves it’s probably a good sign that the food isn’t self-serve.

Here’s another quick tip. DON’T GRAB FOOD WITH YOUR HANDS. We went over this last time, but it seems like the idea didn’t quite hit the tiny little mark that is your brain. If the food is something that you can help yourself to, there’s going to be some form of utensil to grab it with. Sometimes there are tongs, sometimes there are spoons, and every single time there is pizza there will be a spatula. Ever wonder why all of your friends are sick? Maybe it’s because you infected the school with your disgusting germ-ridden hands all over our pizza.

Sadly, people who don’t understand how servers work are only one of the problems of people who are eating at the dining halls. This one might be on me, as I’ve never discussed the intricacies of how to be a decent human being while eating food. All of those grapes, carrots and napkins you’re throwing, those have to be picked up by another person because they’re too big to be picked up by the vacuum. So all of those students who aren’t as fortunate as you and actually have to work to try to pay their bills that mom and dad aren’t covering have to stoop down and pick up your garbage with their hands. So stop throwing food at each other. Food is meant to be eaten, it’s not that crazy of a concept.

A few entitled brats throwing their food around is nothing compared to the terrible “pranksters” who seem to be plaguing the dining hall lately. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen tables that these hilarious human beings have hit. The first step to being an amazing prankster is apparently taking the salt shakers and removing the bottom. Maybe the spilling of the salt is like an hourglass, displaying all the time they’ve been a terrible person. Apparently the second step is to take out a number of napkins from the holder and ball them up on the ground. But, like in life, there can’t just be an empty void. So, they fill that void with pizza, pieces of pie, cookies, anything that will fill that void. I think it’s a metaphor for the void inside they feel because apparently nobody loved them enough to teach them how decent humans work.

Maybe you can’t control these antics and you think that you need help. Here’s a quick solution. Call your mom, dad, grandma, grandpa, uncle, family friend, whoever raised you and tell them that you’re going to do these hilarious things. If they say “Yeah, that’s hilarious and I really respect you for that,” then go ahead and do it, but know that your family members are terrible too. If they say literally anything else along the lines of, “why, that’s terrible,” then congratulations, your family isn’t the worst, it’s just you.

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