Note: This piece is meant to be satirical. I am not actually in love with a table.
You’re the first thing I look for among the busy breakfast crowd. Among a sea of people, all I see is you. I look back and forth across the dining hall, trying to find one of your friends without a backpack, jacket, or person on his chairs. Why do I love you so, high table in Lower? Why do you tempt me so?
Your enemies just won’t do. The booths are too constricting, the low tables don’t give the same people-watching ability, and the long tables are always taken by sports teams. I must have you, high table in Lower, to make my dining experience complete. I crave the bar-high chairs, the location, and the power to be the center focus of Lower dining hall. Call me selfish, but I must have you.
Nothing bothers me more, high table, when one person takes you during the busy breakfast shift. They spread their textbooks and notebooks across your surface, giving no room for any others to sit. You are for dining, high table, not for studying. You complete my weekend breakfast order of an omelet and breakfast potatoes on the side. Where would I be without you, high table of Lower? What other location at BC gets to experience drunk students chowing down at Late Night, hungover students struggling the next morning, and then those same overworked, exhausted students on Monday morning at breakfast? You really do have it all, high table.
You have been there with me through thick and thin. Whether it is the rough weekend nights or the busy lunch shift in between classes, you are always there. During Jalapeno night, Mac & Cheese night, or even Sushi night, it is always you that I want to share that meal with. I can never pin down what it is about you that makes everybody want to share their next delicious meal with you. For some reason, you are everybody’s favorite and I must compete for you day in and day out. Even though I am so tiny that I must literally jump to reach your chairs, I still do it. I do it for you, high tables.
Maybe we could work something out, high tables of Lower, so that I can always have you for my own. Wouldn’t that be nice? We could finally make this love affair official. A “reserved” place card could be a good start, no? Have your people call my people, high tables of Lower.