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April 12, 1991 - Image 6

Resource type:
Text
Publication:
The Michigan Daily, 1991-04-12

Disclaimer: Computer generated plain text may have errors. Read more about this.



Scene3 From T CollegeCampus

It was about a year ago, I
think. I was walking out of the
Student Activities Building, and
there were three old ladies,
janitors all, sitting on the bench
outside. As I passed, I caught a
snippet of their conversation.
"But you know," said one,
with the intonation of one who
has finished with trivial gossip
and is prepared to go on to the
....E crushing, cosmic finale, the moral
of the story, the relevance to our
modern times, "everybody's body is
different."
"Mm-hm!" exclaimed the other two, nodding their heads
and busily making the sounds and gestures of those
confronted with the profound. What she had said was clearly
very wise and very appropriate; that much was obvious to me.
What was not obvious was what sort of context it could be
that could change such an all-purpose non-sequitur into
something wise and appropriate, but such a context there
surely was.
I walked on, and to this day haven't the faintest idea as to
what they were talking about.
It was not on that day, but rather, on another, that I was
walking past the Undergraduate Library. There was a large,
long-haired, drunken biker type standing within sight of me,
and there was a tall, long-haired, sober studious type within
sight of him. The former was yelling.
"Hey you!"

I looked, but he was not yelling at me; he was yelling at
the other man, who was sitting cross-legged, reading
intensely. He did not look up.
"Hey you! Ya'long-haired hippie!" His voice was deep,
husky, macho; he sounded like a refugee from a movie about
truck drivers.
And now the reader looked up.
"If I ever see you in a biker bar, I'm gonnafuck ya'! You
hear me?"
He looked down again, intent on ignoring him.
"If I ever see you in a biker bar, I'm gonnafuckya'! All right? If
I ever see you in a biker bar, I'm gonnafucya'! You bitch!"
And I walked on, my head down, the only thought racing
across my mind a simple, monotonous, "If I laugh, he'll beat
me up. If I laugh, he'll beat me up. I'm going to laugh. No,
I'm not. Stop it. If I laugh, he'll beat me up."
And the man continued to yell, and I managed to hold my
laughter down to a grin.
Once I was sitting in an airport, which is not on campus,
but I was on my way to campus, or was going to get there
eventually anyway, so I think it really ought to count.
And there was a hairy man sitting next to me.
And there was a tall, well-dressed, rather prim-looking
young woman next to him.
And she asked him what he did for a living.
"Well," said the man, who looked like a cowboy and
maybe was one, considering the airport was in Texas, "I'm a
missionary."
"Oh, really?" asked the woman. "How did you find that
job?"
"Well," he said with a sort of a grin, "it might sound

strange to you, mbn, but really, it found me." 1
She nodded. enthusiastically, not unlike the janitors I
mentioned above. "Oh, I believe it. What happened?"
He seemed pleased. "I was a mercenary in El Salvador."
(Here, imagine your humble author, who was beginning to
lose interest, being abruptly jolted awake.) "I was lost for a
couple of weeks, and when I was just about to give up hope,
I found a little church in the middle of..."
No, I don't remember what came next. I wasn't listening
as hard as I should have been. I was too busy trying to figure
out a way to ask this man what, exactly, he was doing in El
Salvador, and who, exactly, he was doing it for, without
running the risk of his trying to convert me to some snake-
handling cult. It was a very difficult decision, I assure you.
Then my bladder made the choice for me, and I was
walking away from the conversing duo.
I was going to a discussion section for an English class,
back about a year and a half ago. I had a fat volume by Franz
Kafka under my arm, and was about to cross South
University, when an ambulance rushed by.
The cars all pulled over to the side of the road, and the
ambulance shot past, its siren blasting as loud as it could go.
Two young women were walking by.
"You know;" said one to the other; "they shouldn't go so
fast. They can get ticketed, too, you know."
"Uh-huh," said the other, nodding her head in agreement.
They kept on walking.
I looked at them.
And I looked down at my book.
And back at them.
And down at my book.
And I looked towards the building where I had been
going.
And I turned around, and headed back towards the
dormitory where I then lived, having decided that I could not
deal with class on that day.

0

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Actdi SpatsYkar
CONVERSE
ALL STAR
SPECIALS
663-6771
419 E. Liberty
2 BLOCKS OFF STATE ST.

Continued from page 5
South Quad
While Betsy Barbour's is the
most personal cafeteria on
campus, South Quad is on the
opposite end of the scale. South
Quad diners who are not of strong
mind (and iron stomach) run the
risk of being trampled by the
crowds of hungry students who
descend on this cafeteria during
the lunch hour.
South Quad's selection is large,
and at times, almost too large.
Although the floorplan of the
cafeteria is meant to prevent
congestion, its lay-out makes
compiling a meal a wild goose
chase. An extra challenge to the
search for food is the obstacle
course presented by noontime's
long lines, through which you

must skillfully maneuver your
tray.
But if you are able to push
your way to the front of the lines,
a wide array of food awaits. On
any given day, choices range from
sloppy joe sandwiches to tuna
melts to "crab" quiche. In general,
the entrdes are eatable, as long as
you follow the "no red meat" rule,
and avoid foods that are especially
greasy.
A large and fairly accessible
salad bar compliments the entree
selection. In addition, cold cuts,
cheese and bagels are available
upon request. With some
creativity, the resourceful diner
can create his or her own
concoctions, using the
microwave or toaster. (Caution:
only use the toaster if you like
your breads really dark, i.e.
charred.)
But the best part of the South
Quad dining experience are the
desserts. There are usually two or
three choices, all equally
fattening. Rice Krispie treats and
chocolate peanut butter cookies
are tastiest, with fudge brownies
following close behind.
The only warning we might
issue about the South Quad
cafeteria is not to eat there two
days in a row, lest the food
become too familiar. For
example, country-style chicken
tends to reappear in the form of
chicken pot pie, and hamburgers
are reincarnated as spaghetti meat
sauce.
But if you're from the old
school and still enjoy the hunter-
gatherer method of eating, South
Quad is the residence hall for you.

AMY FEDMAN/WEEKEND
A student requests a specialty from the chefs at South Quad Caf6.

I

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Sunglasses by
Bausch & Lomb

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East Quad
If you are a meat and potatoes
type of person, forget about East
Quad.
But if you're like Henry, and
consider tuna, potato pancakes,
quiche, and cottage cheese a
balanced meal, bring your meal
card and appetite here.
The alternative food source of
the University Meal Plan, East
Quad is the established vegetarian
beachhead of the residence hall
system.
East Quad provides a
"vegetarian bar" for people who

regularly don't eat meat or are
just disgusted by the University's
version of it.
Unfortunately, for a residence
hall touted for its vegetarian
menu, the amount of fresh fruit is
limited and the available fruit
(read: green bananas) was not
appetizing. Furthermore, the
salad bar was limited, and not
fresh.
On the bright side, East Quad
provides pancakes and
hashbrowns for late-risers with
Please see page 7

NEW LOCATION-500 E. Liberty, Ann Arbor
OPEN 7 DAYS A WEEK--MOST EVENINGS
K 994-3572 Z

April 12, 1991

WEEKEND

Page 6

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