That time they served sushi… and you instantly regretted it.
THAT TIME THEY SERVED SUSHI… AND YOU INSTANTLY REGRETTED IT.
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Remember the collective hush that swept through the dining hall, a ripple of excitement, when the word "sushi" made its rounds? We, the future leaders and innovators, lined up, perhaps a little too eagerly. Our brilliant minds, usually dissecting complex theories, were momentarily fixated on the promise of California rolls and spicy tuna. The campus email had even hinted at an "international culinary experience."
Then came the moment of truth. A tray of rice, pale and sticky, cradling slivers of something vaguely resembling salmon, or perhaps imitation crab, all meticulously arranged by someone who probably meant well. The accompanying soy sauce packets felt like a cruel joke. One bite. Just one. And there it was: that instant, profound regret. The texture, the flavor (or lack thereof), the sheer audacity of calling it sushi. It wasn't just bad; it was an existential dining hall moment, a culinary betrayal.
You locked eyes with a friend across the bustling hall, a silent, knowing nod passing between you. Without a word, you both pivoted, perhaps towards the ever-reliable pizza station, or resigned yourselves to another bowl of cereal. This shared culinary mishap became an unspoken bond, a reminder that even amidst groundbreaking research and intellectual discourse, some battles were fought on the front lines of the salad bar. It's part of the journey, isn't it? The humbling, hilarious, often un palatable side of our extraordinary education. These are the chronicles we carry.