There are rules.
Unwritten, unsaid, unfair — but somehow still enforced with the precision of a NASA launch. I’m talking about the cafeteria. Specifically, where you sit.
You don’t just sit anywhere. That’s madness. That’s social skydiving without a parachute.
Here’s what I’ve figured out:
- If your tray is too full, people judge your metabolism.
- If your tray is empty, they assume you cried in the bathroom.
- If you sit at an empty table, you’re either early, exiled, or the main character in a sad indie film.
My table?
It’s me, Raj, and usually one person who doesn’t understand social cues but brings really good chips.
Across the way? That’s the Royal Court. Natasha sometimes sits there, which is fine. Totally fine. Not that I noticed. (I did.)
I once tried to move tables. It lasted four minutes and ended with me spilling orange juice on a Chromebook.
Moral of the story:
If you find a table that lets you be weird without asking for a personality refund, stay there.
Even if someone still calls you “Poem Guy” under their breath.
Especially then.
– Max