Viva la Breakfast!

It's amazing how quickly one can fall back into routine. I just automatically started doing things just the way I used to before break. I woke up at the same time with ease. It took me just as long as it usually does to get dressed and ready for the day. Breakfast lasted as long as breakfast always does. Just like always.

But not everything was just like always. Someone took a giant monkey wrench and threw it into the well-oiled machine that is my daily routine. To tamper with something as practiced and perfected as my schedule is an act so heinous that I never thought it could happen. Don't people understand that I, like many other college students, am a creature of habit? Can't they see I've come to terms with my Pavlovian sensitivity to time and place and have actually come to appreciate it? My eye is still twitching from the trauma.

First of all, you must understand my breakfast habits. I have a favorite server in the dining commons. She's fantastic. I have a nice little chat with her every morning and she calls me "sweetie" -- one of those little gestures that reminds me that despite teh bleakness of school days, all is right with the world and it's all going to be okay. Anyway, she and I have an understanding. The only things I eat at breakfast are scrambled eggs and the meat of the day. She knows I'm a carnivore so she always gives me an extra helping of sausages, or bacon, or ham, or whatever protein it is they're serving. She also usually says something like "I don't know where you put it!" -- something else that makes me like her. And that's breakfast -- smile, serve, chat, wave, eat. That's magic.

But when I came back from my winter break, my favorite server was no longer at her usual post. This has, of course, happened before. Sometimes she's simply working on something else and I usually make a point to wave and say good morning. But this was different. I didn't see her anywhere. There was someone else weilding her serving spoon and wearing that proud, blue apron. Already, I was feeling apprehensive.

But that's no reason not to carry on with the normal pleasantries. So I tell this new woman good morning, I smile, and I ask for eggs and 4 sausages. Just like I normally would.

And then she gives me this look. I can't describe it. It was a Look -- one that communicated to me that my request was not only out of the question, but so very, very abnormal and wrong that it required special attention. Attention in the form of a Look.

"I can't give you four. You can't have four at a time."

"I can't?" (Already intimidated by the look, I was unable to express anything other than flabberghasted disbelief and confusion.) "Well how many can I have?"

"Two. If you want more, you'll have to come back."

Two?! How can I only have two at a time? That's not the way it was before! How could I survive on only two sausage patties? How would I be able to get through my first day of classes? Did I not look hungry enough? Why else would she deny me my normal portion?

So I tell her that two is fine and walk away with eggs and only two sausage patties. Two fully inadequate sausage patties. And there's you monkey wrench. I couldn't help but obsess over my smaller portion the entire time I ate. Even as my roommate and I conversed, my mind wandered back to the food counter and the new server. I was angry, confused and hurt. Quite upset. From the get-go, I had made up my mind. Whether or not I wanted them, I was going to go back for seconds. Defiantly, I would walk up to the new server, thrust out my chin, and ask for the two sausages that I had been denied. I imagined her looking surprised and offering to fill my entire plate up with all the meat I wanted because I had proven myself to be as much of a carnivore as I claimed to be.

As I finished those two sausage patties, I concluded that this scenario I worked out was the only way I could get back into my routine. Sure, the sausages weren't my favorite item on the breakfast lineup, but I liked them enough to defend my right to them. The second helping of sausage would be my mini revolt against a system that denied me the breakfast that I felt I deserved after a whole five weeks away from the dining commons. This would be a political action more than anything. I was resolute. Those two sausages would be mine!

So I walked up to the counter, excited to get my protest sausage and proudly march back to my seat to finish a nice breakfast.

"May I please have two sausages?" (Ha ha! Victory! Surely she'll be flummoxed by my eating capacity!)

"Sure! Is that all you want, babe?"

Suddenly my little victory bubble deflated. I could tell from this new look (notice the lower case) that she didn't remember me and my request. I had been ruminating and steaming over something that mattered only to me in my own little warped, thrown-out-of-whack world. Not only that, but she called me "babe." That was nice. She was being nice. My nemisis was actually being very nice and I appreciated the sentiment.

So I smiled, "That's it. Thank you!" And walked away.

And that's it. Routine restored. It didn't bother me as much when I walked into the commons this morning and found the very same server stationed at her post. Not only that, but she gave me four pieces of bacon -- about as many as my favorite server used to give me. Sure, it was probably more because the bacon slices were kind of sticking to each other and not because I had made some kind of point, but it was nice. So I can live with a change. I suppose we all need to mix it up sometimes. Not to say I won't look forward to the return of my favorite server.

As much as I hate monkey wrenches thrown into my well-oiled machine, these are the kind I can deal with. Now let's see how classes go.