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Desserts in to-go boxes wait for stu­dents in the Knorr Family Dining Room. Haley Strack | Col­legian

Like most of you, I’ve noticed some­thing dif­ferent about the dining hall these last few weeks. Some­thing lurking just in plain sight. Some­thing sin­ister. Something…small. 

Yes, dear reader, your sus­pi­cions about the dining hall’s portion sizes were not unfounded, your increased hunger pangs not psy­cho­so­matic. I too have observed that the dining hall has been cutting back on portion sizes for the last several weeks and the con­se­quences wrought have been dev­as­tating. 

Ath­letes, once the recip­ients of a ver­i­table bounty, are forced to stoop to the unen­viable level of a certain Charles Dickens orphan, quoting the only line anyone knows from “Oliver Twist.” The rest of us, like actors in an over­active bladder com­mercial, must make fre­quent trips from the table. 

“So what?” You may say. “Just get back in line when you want more food.” 

To which I would respond with an emphatic “Heck no! I’m an American!” 

When you lose the remote, do you get up to change the channel, or do you keep watching Spanish-dubbed Antique Roadshow? That’s what I thought. 

This is most def­i­nitely an outrage, but if the U.S. Treasury Department has taught us any­thing, it’s that there are two sides to every coin. The changes made by Bon Appetit have (mirac­u­lously) resulted in some good. I myself have lost five pounds in two months thanks to the good folks at Bon Appetit, or as I like to call them, Chief Starving Bear Image Enhancement Inc. Their program puts Weight Watchers, Nutrisystem, and Mahatma Ghandi to shame. 

In addition, the changes to the dining hall portion sizes have done the impos­sible. They are solving Hills­dating.

I will admit that I may be giving them too much credit here. Though no one sin­gular change will bring about the end of Hills­dating, we can still cel­e­brate the small incre­mental suc­cesses on our road to eventual victory. 

I am pleased to report that I forsee the reduced portion sizes bringing about the end of the “Saga date.” The con­stant up and down to get more food ensures that Hillsdale’s home­school heart­throbs spend more time standing in line and less time naming future progeny, ren­dering any dining hall dinner date dead on arrival. I am certain that in time, the “Saga date,” much like Garden Party, will soon become a thing of the past, a distant memory remem­bered only by upper­classmen. 

So when you get your half-portion of pasta salad or roast beef, though it is dis­heart­ening, keep your chin up. Know that what you are enduring will most cer­tainly end in some good.

Virtus ten­t­amine gaudet. 

 

Nick Treglia is a sophomore studying applied math­e­matics.