TL;DR: It’s not worth the $4.99.

It was a Monday at 6:30 pm, and I was famished. As I waited in the never-budging Diana pizza line, my eyes drifted to my left. The fridge. I took note of the typical Pepsis, Orange Gatorades, cold poke bowls, and individually-packaged cupcakes—nothing had changed. But wait—what was that in the corner? It looked like pudding. But it couldn’t be—puddings are a relic of my childhood, not something they would serve at a college dining hall. I picked it up and read the label—I was right! Vanilla pudding. This was going to be a wild night. 

I paid for the pudding at the counter, desperately hoping I had enough points left to afford myself this one small luxury. It was $4.99. For one pudding? That’s as much as the Jell-O eight packs I would devour as a kid—this one better be good. No—not just “good.” It better be a gourmet, Michelin star, Guy Fieri-approved pudding. 

Since I took the time to eat my pizza first, I assumed my pudding was rapidly approaching room temperature. I rushed back to my dorm to refrigerate it, taking it out an hour later for a mid-study snack. The plastic was cold—I was ready. 

The pudding came topped with an inch-long layer of whipped cream. Unfortunately, I did not take a picture of this due to my rampant, carnal need to Eat The Pudding Now. I quickly whisked together the pudding and whipped cream until they were evenly distributed. This was the moment of truth—I dolloped a spoonful of the mixture into my mouth, which was watering from anticipation. The pudding was…mid. 

I don’t know what was in this pudding, but it was probably a combination of toxic metals and the blood of Domenico Ghirardelli. It was light and tasteless, but somehow with an extremely sugary aftertaste. I know it was vanilla, but my taste buds conjured up the image of white chocolate. Even though the packaging was cold, the pudding itself was lukewarm. I immediately began to feel queasy. Naturally, I thought This needs toppings. But what? I didn’t have rainbow sprinkles. I momentarily considered pouring in some milk. I just needed something to distract from the main flavor, i.e. bad pudding. 

I began to feel anxious. Why was I feeling so sick after just a few bites? My floor’s bathroom was under construction, so I had nowhere to run in case of emergency. But I kept shoveling pudding into my mouth. I didn’t want to, but my hands were moving independently of myself. I only answered to The Pudding Gods. Maybe I thought that the more I ate, the better it would taste. 

I couldn’t take it any longer. I was only halfway through, but this pudding seemed to be replenishing endlessly. I felt like the kid from Matilda forced to eat his favorite chocolate cake as a form of torture. Why was I still eating this? Finally—I did the unthinkable. I exhibited self-control. I threw the pudding away. 

What was this feeling? I had never felt such joy—I could…make my own decisions? Who would’ve thought! If you spend money on something, you don’t have to eat it all if you really don’t like it. If only someone had told me! I can only hope that although I hated the pudding, someone else might give it a new home. Rats of New York—I bestow the Diana vanilla pudding upon you. 

Diana Pudding via Staff Writer Emma Burris