Today we visit the infamous Stir Fry Lord, he who remains at the Genghis Grill and controls all of us students. If you have eaten at Junkings Dining Hall even once, you would know what I am about to venture towards.
Picture this, a fresh-faced Arian enters the hallowed halls of Junkings for the first time, eyes wide with the promise of a culinary adventure. He looks around the esteemed hall with a diverse array of foods at each station, he embraces the future where he must have all his meals at this hall, it feels right. During his initial days, he used to always observe long lines at the Genghis Grill station which used to give a sense that it was the best station at Junkings with its consistently good food. The Genghis station beckons, its siren song of sizzling sauces and customizable creations calling to me like a hungry, hungry Homer Simpson. I indulge myself in this culinary treat, after selecting the options I wanted with the staple and sauce of my choice. I dived right into this prospective treat, and thought, “Wow! I could really eat this for my entire time here at Mt. St. A.”
Spoiler Alert: He was wrong.
Fast forward through years of academic agony, and Arian still finds himself shackled to the stir fry station, a prisoner of its noodle tyranny. Arian, the non-consumer of beef, wakes up with a cold sweat at night and dreams of staring down the barrel of a station filled with limited options. As he wakes up he must go on a mile-long trek from his on-campus residence Sharlot House to Junkings. After a long and hectic working day in his academic year, he treks to Junkings from Sharlot. He looks over the food options and observes the beef options at every station except for the Genghis Grill station. The Stir Fry Lord appears as the Ooogie Boogie from A Nightmare Before Christmas and looks at me from afar instructing him menacingly to come and bow towards him.
He looks at him with a frown and turns to the sandwich station knowing damn well he is not bowing to the Stir Fry Lord today. He walks to the sandwich station ready to consume anything before hauntingly observing that the only option was beef. Trembling, he realizes his only option was to turn back and walk to the Stir Fry Lord or go back a mile to the residence starving. Defeated by the options, he joins the long line of students whose souls have been consumed by the Stir Fry Lord, who have all been forced to bow to the Stir Fry Lord disgracefully.
He places his order with trembling hands, the Stir Fry Lord whispers ominous warnings of sauce selection and line etiquette to all. “Ah-ha! You thought you could slip through the banana peel of fate without bumping into me today, didn’t ya?” he says and giggles to me as I receive my plate. Arian shuffles away in shame, knowing that he is but a mere puppet in the stir fry’s saucy grasp, never to escape.
Gone are the days of naive enthusiasm, replaced by the repetitive taste of stir-fry-induced despair. It’s a tale as old as time. My friends, the stir fry, once a beacon of hope, is now a merciless overlord, ruling over us with an iron spatula. So let this be a cautionary tale to all who dare to venture into the realm of cafeteria cuisine: beware the stir fry, for it may just stir-fry your soul.
