Caramel Frappucino Chicken Wings

Social norms are my favorite. They keep me safe from weird things happening, most the time. This was not the case yesterday. I was sitting in the lobby area of Jester waiting for class time. I was listening to some sweet jams, answering emails, and feeling really satisfied with my life.

Let me pause here to tell you folks what Jester is. Jester is the biggest dorm in the country. It's like a mall with rooms on the upper floors. There is a Starbuck's, a Wendy's, a Pizza Hut, you get it. It is CRAWLING with undergraduates in their Nike running shorts, Uggs, and t-shirts. There are tables everywhere of some cultural society trying to sell you cupcakes. I happen to have class in one of the few classrooms in this building.

So there I sit, watching the chaos swirl around me. I'm sitting on gray faux leather loveseat thing. There are approximately 34 other seats around me. Some close, some more than 20 feet away. There are 5 other people sitting all scattered around with a socially normal space in between them. One of them is carefully eating her sandwich and chips, making sure not to make too much noise or be gross. I appreciate her.

This girl walks into the seating area. She is carrying a take out tiny box that says pizza hut. I immediately think breadsticks. She is also carrying a Venti caramel frappucino. Gross. I think about how sad her glucose levels will be in 2 hours.

I've seen this girl before. She always sits here when I do but we've never talked.

And here enters the downward spiral of social norms. She passes the 28 open seats. And sits in the chair right next to me. She is now 7 inches from my ear. Now the spiral reaches the speed of sound. She opens her Pizza Hut box to reveal 8-12 honey BBQ chicken wings. The smell hits my face. And I feel queasy. "Ok, Alix. Take a deep breath. You are ok. They are just chicken wings."

Speed of light--she begins eating these chicken wings. Not politely like the sandwich girl. Her face is covered in sauce. She is eating these chicken wings like she is a fucking T-Rex. Then she morphs into a prehistoric creature and SUCKS ON THE BONE. Sucks on the bone with audible noises. And, so, naturally I dry heave. No one notices.

She takes a huge slurp of caramel frappucino. The cup has translucent bits of honey BBQ sauce mixing with condensation. It's too much. I can't live this way.

I pick up my bag. I move to the other seat. And, T-Rex gives me a dirty look and wipes her talon on the seat.

Really.