Realizing too late it was a staff-only fridge.
REALIZING TOO LATE IT WAS A STAFF-ONLY FRIDGE.
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The late nights. We all know them. Papers due, exams looming, the library’s fluorescent hum your only company. Hunger, that insidious beast, inevitably strikes. For me, it was always a desperate search for something beyond the vending machine’s sad offerings. One particularly brutal finals week, a myth circulated about a hidden stash, a fridge tucked away in a seemingly abandoned corner of an administrative building’s common room. Rumor had it, it held actual food. Gourmet leftovers, even.
Fueled by caffeine and a delusional sense of entitlement, I ventured in. The fridge, pristine and inviting, beckoned. Inside, a veritable treasure trove: artisanal yogurt, fancy cheeses, a homemade quiche. My eyes, glazed over from lack of sleep, saw only salvation. I grabbed a beautifully packaged sandwich, a triumph! Just as I was about to make my silent escape, a kindly but stern-looking professor emerged from an office, keys jingling. "Oh, just getting my lunch," he smiled, then paused, noticing my prize. "Did you... find that in my fridge?" My heart hammered. The blood drained from my face. It clicked. Staff-only. The unspoken rules, the subtle signs I’d completely missed in my hunger-induced delirium.
I mumbled apologies, practically shoved the sandwich back, and fled. The shame! The awkwardness! It’s funny now, a quintessential Ivy anecdote. But in that moment, it was an epic fail of monumental proportions, a stark reminder that even in our most driven, sleep-deprived states, some boundaries are sacred. And sometimes, those boundaries are just a fridge away.
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