Creative eaters, bizarre consumers of food, have made their marks everywhere. Just in my own little corner of the world, for example, I enjoy the habits of my hallmates, who consistently shove repulsive items like icing, marshmallow fluff, honey-mustard pretzels and Balance Bars into their starving little mouths.
In recent weeks, however, a hallmate and I have discovered a very rare breed of food consumers, an artistic bunch of hungry animals: the classroom eaters. As we discuss our bizarrely arranged classes full of creative consumers, Austin and I have begun to share some of the most amazing tales of the year.
Certainly, we have all seen that guy in the corner mangle an entire sandwich during class and have listened to that one annoying gum-chewer crack her BubbleYum for hours on end, but some rare jewels have emerged this term.
These subjects of ridicule, admiration and pure fascination truly deserve some type of recognition, some acknowledgment of their habits.
And thus I announce the recipients of the Austin and Abbye Classroom Eaters Honorable Mention Award: the guy with the tea bag and the guy with the canteen.
Throughout her freshman seminar, Austin has searched for extraordinary eaters, and has finally found promising potential in the guy with the tea bag. After drinking his cup of ordinary tea - already somewhat of a production as a part of such a small class - the guy spent the last half-hour loudly sucking on the tea bag. We particularly note the creativity in drawing attention to himself; great things surely await him in the future.
My first class of the day, on the other hand, provokes appreciation of the more subtle eating techniques. In fact, the guy with the canteen has never actually put his canteen to his mouth in my presence. But just his constant carrying of the unique container on his belt earns him respectable recognition.
And now, the Austin and Abbye Classroom Eaters Third Place Award goes to the girl with the cereal. Apparently Austin recently spent an entire class period admiring the work of one girl and her cereal production. Clearly so desperate for a complete meal in the middle of her 9:00 class, this girl pulled from her backpack a giant bowl, a spoon and two plastic containers filled with milk and Cheerios.
Making a production of the cereal effort, she carefully poured the cereal and milk into the large mixing bowl before spending an entire hour munching away with her big spoon. Now if she would have experimented with slicing some bananas or strawberries, this girl could have earned a higher award, but her bizarre effort is appreciated and duly acknowledged.
Taking the Second Place Award in this very tough competition, the girl with the banana made a huge impact on my biology lecture last week. First, she peeled it, slowly and carefully, placing each strand of yellow peel neatly to the side of her precious fruit. This process, as it took several long minutes, drew the attention of the surrounding rows.
Then, without warning, this girl attacked the banana. Seriously, she could not get enough of it fast enough. I have never seen a mouth with such banana-carrying capacity before. Her performance, though slightly disturbing, was quite impressive. I will never forget those lunges or the smile that remained on her face well beyond her last bite. That must have been some amazing banana.
Exhibiting true talent and originality, the girl with the carrots takes the Austin and Abbye Classroom Eaters First Place Award. I was sitting at the table in my seminar when I heard the generally annoying sound of carrots being crunched. Turning to my right I saw her eating a baby carrot like Tom Hanks ate the tiny corncobs in "Big." Already somewhat shocking, I could barely contain myself when I saw the tower beginning on her notebook.
Perhaps to keep herself awake, this girl was arranging the inside cores of the little baby carrots in a Jenga-like tower. Taking at least a full hour, she formed a perfect stack of wonderfully shaped carrot cores.
As the tower grew, the rest of the class's attention peaked. We couldn't stop watching, waiting to see what would happen next. And then it stopped. She had finished her bag of veggies and just left the tower sitting on the notebook while we sat frozen in anticipation.
"Do you not like the insides or do you do it for fun?" I whispered.
"I save them for later," she said, with a little piece of carrot still on her lip after the frenzied munching. "They're sweeter."
And then, at exactly 11:35 a.m., 15 minutes before the end of class, she began eating the cores one by one, until her tower was gone. Not sure if we should applaud or not, the rest of us just sat in awe, realizing that we had witnessed one of the greatest classroom eating events in history.
And to Carrot Tower Girl, we offer our greatest congratulations, our most sincere admiration. She has beautifully demonstrated that eating, especially in class, can be appreciated as a true art form. Her work has left us craving more, though I doubt the possibility of a more unique consumption.
