Get chopped

Get Chopped or Not: Thoughts from Hell

Woe! Pain! Cry! Death (almost)! The sorrow is nearly too much to bear.

Get Chopped
Get Chopped moves to the basement.

After years of faithful service chopping salads (or not chopping salads) and providing sustenance in the high traffic main floor of the Memorial Union, I have been condemned to the place where restaurants go to die. Specifically, I have been moved to the far corner in the basement of the Union.

Let me explain why the corner spot is equivalent to the fourth level of Hell (Dunbar Hall would be the seventh level, but they only have water fountains—thank goodness I didn’t get moved there.)

Students expelled from the bowels of the A. Glenn Hill building go reeling past me as they attempt to gather their wits after receiving a severe drubbing in the classroom. They rarely succeed in gathering their wits about them until they are at least by Pizza Express, although the occasional student will recover as early as Burgers @ the U.

Alas! By the time they regain full use of their faculties, they are long past me and my opportunity to help them is gone.

Students entering from the other end of the food court are so weak and weary that they dash off to the other vendors before they can drag themselves all the way over to me.

In the past, there was a bakery where I now stand. Students went soaring by as if blasted from the A. Glenn Hill building by a cannon, and nearly nobody stopped for a snack. A small but dedicated band of students noticed the bakery’s plight and put forth a valiant effort to save it, imbibing dangerous amounts of coffee in the process. Regrettably, it wasn’t enough. The bakery lasted all of a semester before succumbing to the pall of death that hangs around this stall.

Thankfully, I am made of sterner stuff. I will persevere. Come to me, you weak and hungry masses! I will provide healthy options, I will give you what you need!

In all seriousness, please band together and save me from imminent doom.

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