I recently moved off campus into an apartment and, not to throw you freshmen residing in the new Bingham out of your dormgasmic tizzy, but living in an apartment is much better than living a dorm.
I mean, at least it is for me.
I like having my own room, with all walls decorated with my own unorthodox choices — not one wall of my Broadway posters and one wall covered in posters of some roommate’s unique — or not so unique — interests. Or lack thereof, depending on the roommate. But to each his own. For the most part, since I have removed myself from the confines of a campus dwelling, I have been much happier.
Gone are the daily stresses I’ve had to deal with for the past two years. However, with my departure from campus, I have become a victim to a powerful, villainous triumvirate: my growling stomach, my empty refrigerator and my dwindling bank account. Damn you, grocery shopping.
I have to admit it. Not only do I not know how to cook more than microwavable sweet potatoes, oatmeal and salads (yes, I said that I cook salads), but I do not know how to shop for food. That’s a big confession to make, because I love to pretend that I know what I’m doing as I stroll through Wegmans.
Yes, I will eat tons of fresh produce this week. I will eat portobello mushrooms and zucchini and carrots and kumquats and mangoes and starfruits, oh my. Especially starfruits, because they look pretty. Like stars. And I like things that are pretty and look like stars.
And while we’re on the subject of pretty things, cranberry goat cheese is pink. I eat yogurt every day, but what if I have a craving for cottage cheese instead? Cringe all you want, I dig my probiotics. Organic frozen yogurt pints for those emotional, but healthy, evenings? You bet. Frozen healthy meals, perfectly suited to my limited kitchen abilities? Mexican or Indian? How about both! Kashi bars make excellent snacks — better get every flavor that ever existed!
And we haven’t even started with the Luna bars, because those are made especially for women. Pickles never looked so appealing before. And we haven’t even gotten out of the organic and fresh food section yet.
Everything looks so appealing and, for some reason, despite the $145.76 I spent, come the following week I don’t want to eat any of it. I open my fridge and call out to my roommates that there’s nothing to eat, we have to go out to dinner. One of my roommates looks back at me and wonders, “Why did I buy chocolate syrup?” He doesn’t even like chocolate milk.
It’s not that we have no concept of money — we have no concept of our appetites. Our appetites for food, our appetites for achievement, our appetites for sex, whatever. We don’t know how to gauge what we want. A trip to Wegmans is a microcosm for all of these things that we do not understand about ourselves.
Call me Freudian or accuse me of digging into my refrigerator too deeply, and you’d be completely right. But, as our move off campus proves, we’re not as grown up as we think we are. We know what we want (everything, including chocolate syrup and the whole produce section), but we don’t know what we need (half of the produce section, and no chocolate syrup).
Well, maybe we do need the chocolate syrup. My other roommate just made chocolate milk. Unfortunately for me, my mushrooms went bad last week.