In a groundbreaking new study, one researcher by the name of Barry Biggs has uncovered startling, never-before-seen behavioral patterns of college students in the lunchroom—patterns so bizarre and inexplicable that they are sure to change the way we look at academia forever.
The study, titled “Dissection of the Lunchroom: Calientes Burritos, Too Little Seating and So Much Noise,” sheds light on previously hidden dynamics of social interaction and food choices.
Biggs’ research initially began with the curious case of the Calientes Burrito, a dish so coveted that it borders on mythical status. According to his findings, students, once in line at the Crossing, engage in a series of unsophisticated tactics to secure the burrito without drawing attention to their desire. They stand in a mile-long line for up to 20 minutes for a simple white rice, queso and chicken burrito, their only comforts being the next steps closer to the front of the line and their TikTok feeds to keep their attention spans occupied.
“As the clock hits 10:30 a.m., students begin lining up at the Calientes line, practically falling over each other to be the first to receive their burrito,” Biggs explained. “The line is so long every single day without fail; it doesn’t even end until approximately 11:30 before filling right back up again at 11:50.”
However, Biggs makes a shocking claim: it’s not just the burrito that is the object of desire. The true prize is the legendary Honey Chipotle Vinaigrette sauce, a mysterious substance that seems to have the power to elevate any dish to a level of culinary transcendence. “It’s the nectar of the gods,” one anonymous student confided. “You can’t explain it. There’s just something about the sweet, citrusy tang that turns a mediocre lunch into a spiritual experience. And once you get that sauce, you’ve reached a higher plane of existence.”
But the real magic, according to Biggs, happens after the burrito is secured. Students are then forced to navigate the labyrinth of lunchroom seating—an area described by Biggs as a “social minefield of rejection and possible trauma.”
As seating becomes increasingly scarce, students employ various strategies to secure a spot. The most common? The “Passive-Aggressive Scout,” circling the dining room once or twice to see if anyone looks likely to vacate their seat, giving off the impression of indecisiveness or “just browsing.” Once they’ve identified a lone student with a half-eaten salad or empty tray, they pounce, asking if anyone is sitting there, with an air of both desperation and faux politeness.
“It’s not about the food,” one subject confessed under anonymity. “It’s about securing the seat. That’s where the real power lies.” However, not every student is lucky enough to find a spot—some have no choice but to sit on the floor or stand awkwardly next to their friends with seats.
The final observation Biggs notes is the absolutely absurd noise levels in the Markee, especially at peak lunch time. “It’s like eating in a tornado. I sometimes wonder if they’ve replaced the speakers with a live band of chaos agents,” says Jack Carver, a local student worker who frequents the Markee for its convenience.
In a move to address the growing complaints, the Markee’s management is reportedly in talks to bring in professional sound engineers to help mitigate the acoustic disaster. “We are looking into options such as installing sound-dampening materials and possibly re-arranging the seating to minimize noise levels,” said Faye Kname, a representative from the Markee’s management team.
Despite the issues, one thing is clear: The Markee remains as popular as ever, with people still flocking in droves to indulge in its vast array of food options, even if it does feel a little like dining in the middle of a live-action symphony of chaos.