Staff Writer Tyche Rose just wants to sit down, please.

Ferris Booth Commons, 7:15 pm: There is no beginning or end to this queue. It’s a formless, pulsing mass of bodies, a silent mosh pit. The group of sophomores pressed against me appears to be forming a wall of death. I don’t know how much time has passed since I wandered into this tumult. Minutes, hours, days…I crane my neck to peer at the buffet, wondering if it might be faster to just cook a rotisserie chicken myself. 

We live in the biggest city in America, yet seemingly all 8,000 Columbia undergraduates want to be in line for a Thai lettuce wrap right now. Last week I waited thirty minutes for a grilled cheese. Thirty minutes…Half my Columbia education has been spent trapped in Ferris, watching my youth slip away.

And even when I’ve survived the line, there’s the even more daunting trial of finding a place to sit. Eating inside is a hellish endeavor. I once staked my claim on a table with my backpack, a water bottle, and an entire plate of food; as I left to grab a fork, two juniors ruthlessly annexed it. I didn’t even know what to say. I just stared at them. Then I hung my head and shuffled away in shame, gazing back mournfully like that cartoon of the sad pathetic ant with his pitiful little ant belongings tied in a bindle.

So instead, I now resign myself to some hospitable table or bench outdoors. I scan the frontier while precariously balancing my plate, loaded with all the food I could possibly need—for there’s no going back, once you’ve escaped. The sun beats down on me. Alas, I have no hand free to wipe the sweat from my weary brow. I voyage on, miles and miles in my exodus from the swarming chaos of Ferris. Why does Low Plaza so closely resemble the desert climate of Madrid…But there, an oasis! Across the lawn, I spot an empty table. Heaving my bag, clenching my cardboard plate, clinging onto my coffee cup with a pinkie, I lunge toward it: and just as the table is within my grasp, a group of students swoop in and seize it. Reeling, I spin around in search of somewhere, anywhere to take refuge. I finally collapse on a bench, only to be doused by the automatic sprinkler system.

This is only slightly dramatized. Countless Columbia students suffer every day from our university’s insufficient infrastructure. All the lounges are full, there are no seats in Butler, John Jay Dining Hall is pandemonium. Whenever the school leaves tables and chairs on the lawn, left over from some temporary banquet, they’re soon completely overrun by students eating and studying. The problem is obvious: we yearn for more territory. Please, Columbia, expand our enclosure…

Sad ant image via Know Your Meme

Header via Columbia Dining